"You from out of town?" The Judge briefly raised his eyes to glower at him. "You from Hondo City maybe? Simba? East-Meg Two?"
"No." Locking eyes fearlessly with the Judge, Jeffrey did his best to show he would not be intimidated. "I-"
"It's a religious thing, then? You're a member of the Seventh Day Non-Comprehensionists?"
"No, I..." Jeffrey faltered. This wasn't going quite the way he had expected.
"So, you're an alien who only looks human? You're a shape-changing pod person from the planet Dumb-As-Drokk Five?"
"Uh, no..." Jeffrey found himself wilting helplessly beneath the Judge's stare.
"And here's me thinking there was some reason you didn't speak the local lingo," the Judge said. "Otherwise, what part of 'take a ticket and wait until your number's called' don't you understand? Now, sit down before I decide to book you for Aggravated Time-Wasting and put you in the cubes."
Jeffrey returned meekly to his seat. He looked at his watch and saw it was 6:00am. He had been awake for exactly twenty-four hours, with no sign of an end in sight. I'll give it another two hours, he thought. Then, I'll complain again. I won't let him put me off this time, either. What the hell did he mean, "Aggravated Time-Wasting", anyway? Like his time is any more important than mine! Like I don't have things to do myself. It's another day. I got jobs to be applying for. Yeah, and for all I know, this could be the big one, the day when I finally get somewhere. The day everything changes.
The lights went out. What a way to run a Sector House, Jeffrey thought. Lights going out and people having to wait forever to claim their stuff. No wonder they're planning on closing this place down. He could hear the groans and curses of the other citizens in the waiting area, but he did not join in with the chorus of disapproval. He was distracted by the sound of someone quietly calling his name nearby. There was something about it, something so compelling he could not help but listen. The sound, a barely audible murmur. A strange voice, malign and knowing.
A whisper in the darkness.
The elevators were out as well as the power. Running headlong down the Sector House's emergency stairwell, Anderson realised she should have had the foresight to order an anti-grav chute from the Armoury after the last power cut. At least that way she would not have had to run breathlessly down nine flights of stairs with only the beam of her torch to guide her. Still, she could cry over split synthi-milk later. Right now, she needed to get to her destination, and fast.
The holding cubes. She might not know where the strange voice that had whispered to Brophy would strike next, but the holding cubes seemed as good a place to start as any. Six times out of seven, the killer had used them as his hunting ground. Granted, even with the bloody message appearing on the wall outside Hass's office, she could not be certain the voice Brophy had heard had anything to do with the deaths of the perps in custody. Her instincts said it was all related, the same instincts now telling her to get to the holding cubes.
"Anderson?" As she emerged from the stairwell and ran into the holding pens area, she saw Chief Warder Sykes waiting with half-a-dozen Judge-Warders in riot gear. "Grud, woman, you look like you've just run the Megathon."
"Thanks," she rasped, lungs burning. "Elevators out... The perps... Anything... wrong?"
"Nothing to report so far," he replied. "All the same, we're ready for the worst-"
There was a scream in the darkness, shrill and terrified. Sykes and the warders ran off in search of the sound with Anderson trailing behind them.
"Cube Two-Twelve," she heard one of the Judges yell. "Grud! It's the cube right next door to Barclay's."
"Open that drokking door," Sykes thundered as his men shoved crowbars in place and tried to force the door open. "I'm not letting another damned perp die, not on my watch."
Slowly, inch by torturous inch, the door came open with a protesting screech. Through it all, the screaming continued. When the door opened wide enough, Anderson shone her torch into the cube and saw the face of the perp inside blinking back at her from the darkness. He was still alive. Unharmed and apparently undamaged. His face transfixed in the beam, the look of terror on the perp's features abruptly softened and evaporated, giving way to a childlike expression of comfort.
"Something's wrong here," she said. "It's like we aren't in the right place."
"I don't drokking believe it," Sykes muttered incredulously as he pushed his way past her and stared into the cube. "Cube Two-Twelve. I should've made the connection earlier." He pointed at the perp. "Aaron Jingles. Sentenced to six months for Persistent Noise Annoyance. He screams whenever it gets dark. He came in three hours ago. Supposed to be on his way to the psycho-cubes for observation, but the transport got held up." He addressed the perp directly. "You don't like it when the lights go out, do you, Aaron?"
"Please can I have a nightlight, Judge?" the perp moaned pathetically, eyes wide in the glare of the torch. "I don't like being in the dark."
"Drokking psychos!" Sykes kicked the doorjamb in aggravation while inside the cube Aaron Jingles shrank back.
The power came back on, bathing the corridor in light.
"It's over," Sykes said, his face dark with suppressed fury. "False alarm. Looks like you ran down all those stairs for nothing, Anderson. Or who knows? Maybe you being here scared the killer away. Either that, or the bastard's playing with us. Enjoying it as he watches us go running around chasing shadows. I tell you, I get my hands on this creep and..." He paused, regaining his composure. "Anyway, like I say, whatever the reason it seems to be over for now."
"What about the rest of the Sector House?" she said. "The killer could've struck somewhere else."
"Negative to that, Anderson," one of the Judge-Warders said, fingers working inside his helmet as he adjusted the comms earpiece inside it. "I've patched into the Sector Control frequencies and I'm reading no incidents anywhere else in the Sector House. Looks like we got through this power cut unscathed."
"So much for instinct," she muttered.
"Hmm? What was that, Anderson?" Sykes turned his head sharply towards her.
"Nothing," she told him. "Guess you're right. It's over for now."
Even as she agreed with him though, she felt a gnawing sense of unease. So far, every time there had been a power cut, somebody inside the Sector House had either died or gone crazy. Which raised an unsettling question.
If neither perps nor Judges were the targets this time, then who was?
Opposite the check-in desk, the return of the lights was greeted with sarcastic applause by those waiting there, until the hard stares of the Judges behind the desk caused the clapping to stop. By then, Jeffrey Queeg was already gone. He was standing just inside the automatic doors that led out of the Sector House, ready for them to open as the power came back on. As it did, he left unnoticed. Just another citizen on his way home.
Jeffrey had had enough of waiting. He had waited his entire life. Waited in queues. Waited for jobs. Waited for dreams and opportunities that somehow never came to pass. And through it all he had been forced to endure the constant bullying of those around him. Judges, neighbours, complete strangers, the juves who were bigger than him when he was at school. Jeffrey had finally had enough. He was going to make a stand, and he was not going to be put off, especially when he no longer needed to fear being bullied. For now he had a friend to help him.
They are sinners, Jeffrey
, the voice - his new guardian angel - whispered to him.
They are sinners, all of them. They must be judged.
"If you say so," he answered the voice cheerfully. "Sinners. All of them. They need to be judged."
Noticing that the people he passed in the street were looking at him strangely, Jeffrey realised he had spoken to the voice out loud. Better be careful of that, he told himself. People hear you talking to yourself, they'll start to think you're crazy.
Yes, Jeffrey,
the voice agreed in his head.
You have enemies. You must be careful. There are sinners everywhere. They must be judged.
"Judged. Right you are," Jeffrey said, then chided himself as he realised he had spoken out loud again. He could see this business of having a special friend that only he could hear was going to take a bit of getting used to.
They're all sinners
, he told the voice, talking back to it in the same way it talked to him - in his head.
They need to be judged. Every one of them.
Yes, Jeffrey,
the voice agreed with him again. It really was the most agreeable friend Jeffrey had ever had.
You will strike them down. You will punish them for their transgressions. You will purge this city with fire and blood.
Fire and blood?
thought Jeffrey.
That sounds kind of messy. Couldn't I just shoot them all instead?
Very well
, the voice said.
But first you must arm yourself. Not only with a warlike aspect and the armour of righteousness, but with-
Guns
, thought Jeffrey.
I'll need guns. Lots of them. And plenty of bullets too, what with there being so many sinners about in need of killing
.
Very good, Jeffrey
. The voice seemed pleased.
Yes, you will need guns. And I know exactly where you can find them.
The voice whispered a name to him, a name he knew well. Hearing it, Jeffrey smiled. And, with that smile, he felt a warm and happy sense of kinship suffuse him.
It was still early days, of course. But it really looked like this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
EIGHT
COMMAND DECISIONS
"You want me to call in the Exorcists?" Sector Chief Franklin said. There was a note of incredulity to the question, but beneath it Deputy Chief Grimes could read the subtle workings of anxiety in the old man's voice. "Surely that would be an overreaction?"
"I have to admit it's a judgement call," Anderson said. "I can't tell you exactly what kind of entity we're dealing with here. All I know is we'll need specialist help if we're going to stop it."
"A judgement call," Franklin echoed her as though searching the words for sinister implications. Then, apparently troubled by what he found, he fell silent.
The three of them were sitting in Conference Room Five, a slew of files and reports lying strewn across the table between them. Twenty minutes before, Anderson contacted the sector chief's office and requested a meeting to discuss the latest developments in her investigation. Now, listening to the nuances of the conversation between Franklin and the Psi-Judge as the meeting progressed, Grimes was pleased to see his mounting suspicions over the last few weeks as to his superior's state of mind were confirmed. It was plain to see the old man was beginning to lose his nerve.
"You've contacted Judge Hass about this?" There was a wary tone to Franklin's voice.
"Tried to," Anderson shrugged. "Said he was too busy to be bothered right now and I should try and come back later. Rather than waste any more time waiting, I thought I'd be better off coming to you directly."
"But he's the lead Judge on the case." Franklin seemed quietly worried. "This is an SJS investigation, after all. If any more outside help is going to be called in, Hass has to sign off on the decision. I've breached protocol on this once already."
"I'm aware of that, chief," Anderson said. "But if I can't get a meeting with Hass, I can hardly get him to sign off on anything. Let's be frank - no pun intended. We all know SJS don't play well with others. Hass is stonewalling me. It's pretty clear he doesn't like the fact there's even
one
Psi-Judge on this case, never mind a whole gang of them running round the Sector House outside his supervision. There'd have to be a ghost dressed in a white sheet and clanking chains turning cartwheels in the Sector House right in front of him before Hass would agree to call in the Exorcist Squad. And by then, it could be too late."
"Too late?" Franklin shifted uneasily. "Yes, of course. I understand your concern."
He's lost his nerve, all right, Grimes thought. With only a few weeks to go before he takes the Academy job, the last thing the old man wants to do is start making more waves. He went out on a limb already, calling Anderson in. Now, he's probably afraid the whole thing's about to blow up in his face and ruin his retirement. He's floundering and the entire Sector House is floundering around him. A sector chief needs to be a strong leader. It's just like I always thought; the old man is becoming a liability.
Grimes felt a familiar surge of bitterness. He had been Franklin's deputy for nearly ten years, doing all the jobs the old man hated: compiling crime stats, administering shift patterns, liaising with the Judges of Accounting Division and insuring the budget targets were met. All the myriad and vital tasks that kept a Sector House running in working order. They were tasks for which Franklin had little inclination. Imagining himself an old school Street Judge and "man of action", the sector chief made no secret of the fact that he thought bureaucracy was beneath him. Accordingly, Grimes had been forced to take up the slack in the old man's place, dreaming of the day when he would be made sector chief in his own right, able to delegate the same tasks to others. It was beginning to look as though that dream would never be realised.
Serves him right if this entire business does blow up on him, Grimes thought sourly. If the senile old fool had only stood down years ago like he should have, I could have been sector chief by now. Instead, he hung on for grim death until Justice Department finally decided to get rid of him. Now, I'm about to get stuck playing second fiddle to Meryl Coolidge. She's a real ball-breaker, I hear. Probably got her own man in mind for my job already. A couple more months and I'll be shunted sideways to the first post she can find that will have me, and nobody wants a former deputy who never made it as far as sector chief. There's stigma attached to it. The whiff of failure. People think there must be some good reason why you were passed over.