They arrived at the shell of flats, squirted something up their noses to numb the smell, and headed into the building. Both Hutton and Tresling fired up their icers.
The murder had happened in Families Room B8-32. Every room they passed differed only in size. They were all multi-purpose (the mess and stains told you that), and overcrowded. Yet the absence of a public health warning meant this was a better part of the city.
As they came to B8-32, Hutton and Tresling nodded to each other and held their icers ready.
Tresling went in first. There was a pile of rags covered in a bloody mulch in the corner: the victim. Crib was towards the other corner, kneeling and facing him.
Hutton bounded in.
‘Freeze!’
Tresling winced.
Crib didn’t even look at them. ‘I’m guilty. I accept sentencing.’
‘Woah! Let’s do this by the book! Who’s the victim? How did you do it? And why?’
Even an old hand like Hutton had sweat running down his back when a suspect confessed before they’d gotten evidence. Confessing meant the Judges would be notified. Even the Handlers had nightmares about them. Most of them were picked from Handlers who had lost it. Every Handler swore they’d get out before they went like that. The plan was always to get some proof before any confession, so they could freeze them and leave them for the Judges when that happened.
Crib looked at the floor.
Tresling pointed his icer at Crib’s head. ‘Start talking! You want another twenty years in the freezer?’
Crib didn’t move. ‘I said I confess. Call in the Judges!’
Was this guy nuts? ‘You want the Judges, you tell us something. Victim. Name. Now.’
Hutton was poking about in the blood and guts with his icer. ‘The old man was jacked up on this case, I’m going to ask him for a remote DNA ident.’ Tresling nodded and continued trying to get some answers.
He walked up to Crib. His face was tinged blue. It had odd creases from where he’d been frozen. Tresling didn’t know if Crib’s vacant stare was because of his mental state, or whether his facial muscles had never properly recovered after being iced. ‘Tell me everything now and I’ll ice you before the Judges come.’
‘I’m not going back into the cold. I can’t take it. I confess.’
‘Do you actually know anything about this murder, citizen? Because you are making me pretty damned angry!’
A panel on Hutton’s armcomm went green and he walked over to his partner. He glared at Crib. ‘Look, if you’re so keen to admit it, fill us in on the details. The Judges won’t accept an unreliable confession.’
Crib began to laugh hard. ‘Yeah, sticklers for rules those Judges.’ Tresling punched Crib hard, but cursed himself because it was time they didn’t have.
‘Talk!’ screamed Hutton.
‘I think the perp has already admitted it, don’t you?’ The voice was from what passed for a doorway. The Judge was short, with short red hair, and a torn red suit. He was also about three feet wide and carried a PB-8 flameunit. He stepped into the room and grinned.
‘We don’t have a reliable confession, Sir.’
The Judge walked up to Tresling and spat on the floor. Then he turned to Crib. ‘The feed showed you admitting it, perp!’
‘I am guilty, I accept sentencing.’ It was Crib’s first acknowledgement of the Judge’s presence.
The Judge smiled and clicked a button on his flameunit. ‘You Handlers can leave.’
Hutton was a bastard, but he knew he’d be in for an icing or worse if he let a Judge burn this guy for an uncorroborated confession. He rested his icer against his shoulder. ‘You know the law, Sir. I have to ice this suspect and scene for a murder one.’
The Judge just smiled. There had been talk about Judges just burning people without full confessions. Even for fun. This one looked crazy, but then they all did. The Judges meted out punishment, but never seemed to suffer any.
He pointed his flameunit in Crib’s direction. ‘Found at the scene. A sign of guilt, some might say. That’s corroboration.’
Tresling tried to support his partner. ‘Wouldn’t a guilty man try to flee the scene?’
The Judge sneered. ‘You a psychologist?’ Then he turned to Crib. ‘Tell me why you killed them?’
Crib just stared. That seemed to upset the Judge.
‘We’ve asked him several times,’ said Hutton. ‘He’s been a cube before, and I think he can’t face it again. He’d prefer to be burnt than another twenty in the freezer.’
‘Hmm!’ The Judge smiled. ‘Then maybe his confession isn’t reliable, and I should just leave you legal experts and psychologists to it.’ Then he broke into a full smile of red teeth and put his flameunit against Crib’s head.
Tresling pulled the Judge from behind, and they both went to the floor. Hutton iced on full blast, Crib screaming as he contorted in pain.
The Judge jumped to his feet and pumped out a stream of fire that engulfed Hutton. Hutton screeched and his flaming form fell on top of Crib. Crib’s right leg wasn’t fully iced, and it began chemically burning as the rest of him was in the process of freezing.
Tresling aimed his icer straight for the Judge, who sidestepped, kicked Tresling and stood over him with the flameunit. It was only as he pulled the trigger that he realised the weapon was cold. It had gotten iced by Tresling’s last shot. His face showed the fear as the flameunit exploded in an orange ball, killing the Judge and Tresling in less than a second.
Crib was literally frozen stiff now, but his leg was on fire. Tresling’s dismembered arm and armcomm rested next to his frosted torso. A message came in saying the murder victim was the Chancellor. But Crib couldn’t see or hear, he could just sense the gelid paralysis and his leg crumbling into soft ash. Twenty minutes later, he was arrested for quadruple murder one. He made no reply to caution, ‘Reason: frozen.’
the end About the author
Jonathan Edwards grew up with two heroes: Bodie (Lewis Collins) from The Professionals, and Doctor Who (Tom Baker). He was fortunate enough to meet the fourth Doctor when he was only four years old. He is pleased to report his older cousin ran in panic from the Doctor’s booming voice and wonderfully electrified expression!
Jonathan is currently working on a very quirky book of sci-fi short stories (calling it “quirky” to give people a polite excuse not to like it). This is under the pseudonym “Eagle Monsoon” (because he thought it sounded good). Jonathan’s hobbies include karate (where he should know what he is doing by now), fencing (where he strikes more poses than opponents), running and hiking. He heard about The Fire and Ice Anthology after an amazing day with The (Brilliant) S.F. Experience up the Brecon Beacons. He is also working on several crime books.
LUCANTHA
Sue Hoffmann
‘Close the door,’ said Granny Marta. ‘Latch it well. Shutter the windows carefully, for Lucantha will try to come into the warmth.’
Door and windows secure, we children gathered round Granny Marta at the fireside. As usual, Heinlan pushed his way close to the grate. Patrell made a token complaint, but no one else minded; Heinlan felt the cold more than the rest of us. Velda snuggled against Granny Marta’s feet. I took one of the hound pups on to my knee. Jirrin sat next to me, her thumb stuck in her mouth. And the story began.
So many stories there were, and each one told in the dead of winter. Never would Granny Marta oblige us with a tale when the days lengthened and the sun returned to the land, nor even when the leaves fell and winter crept nearer. Only when snow was deep in the valley and the wind howled its protests through the trees would she submit to our pleas.