Three

 

 

IN THE THREE years since I’d arrived on Titan I’d only twice seen the warden in person. Governor Myles Dodge, seventy, completely bald—didn’t even have eyebrows—with African and Caucasian heritage. He had the look of an old-time circus strongman whose body had finally succumbed to age: a broad frame supporting a body draped with far too much loose skin.

It was easy to get the impression that Dodge spent his days sitting in his office watching TV while he left the running of the prison to the sub-wardens and guards, and maybe that was the impression he wanted to give, for some reason. But the fact is he had his finger on the pulse, as I’d learned the first time I met him.

That had been shortly after my modification surgery. I was in the infirmary, with sub-warden Copus in the middle of explaining certain truths to me, when the door opened and Dodge entered.

He looked me up and down, and said to Copus, “Good job. What does he remember?”

“About the process? Nothing.”

I said, “Who the hell are you?”

He ignored that, and asked Copus, “Who was on the airlock when he was brought in?”

“Giambalvo.” Copus hesitated for a second. “So far she’s said nothing, but I don’t know her well enough to trust her.”

“I do. She can keep her mouth shut.” He turned to me. “Dredd, I’m Governor Dodge. You understand why we did this to you?”

“Sure, I understand.” He looked as though he didn’t believe me, so I repeated it more firmly. “I understand. The other inmates have to believe that Titan is so hostile that this was the only way to save my life.” I shrugged. “I hate it, but I get it. If they believe there’s even the slightest chance of surviving out there, they’ll spend all their time plotting their escape. That’s not going to get the ore out of the ground, and the ore is the only thing that makes this place viable.”

Dodge watched me as I spoke, nodding slowly, then said, “Your voicebox gives you an advantage over non-modified prisoners, Dredd; it’s harder to tell whether you think I’m a piece of toast. So we’re going to have to judge you by your actions, not your words. Work hard and keep your head down, and you might find yourself in my favour. The journey from Earth to Titan is expensive, so anything less than a twenty-year sentence is just not cost-effective... But say an inmate was to help keep the peace. Fewer fights means fewer injuries. That means fewer days in the infirmary and lower running costs. Something like that might weigh heavily in your favour, Dredd. It’s all economics. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do. Aside from the reference to toast.”

Copus said, “Don’t butter him up.”

“Right, got it.”

Dodge continued, “Then there’s the opposite approach. Push against the system, the system pushes back, and no one man—no matter how impressed he is with himself—can win against the system.”

He tapped the centre of his chest with his index finger. “The system. In case there’s any confusion.”

The second time I met Governor Dodge was sixteen months later, when former EuroCit Judge Ren Tramatky lifted a guard’s gun and managed to deactivate its handprint scanner. Exactly how he did that we still don’t know, but the result was chaos: two guards dead and fourteen wounded, six prisoners wounded, and more than fifty almost suffocated when Tramatky realised there was no possible way to escape and blasted a hole in the mess-hall windows. I’d ordered Wightman and a couple of others to block the cracked windows with tables and plastic trays while I took down Tramatky with my bare fists. Afterwards, Dodge had called me to his office to—he said—commend me on my quick thinking. I figured he was checking up on me. Wanted to look me in the eye, see if he could work out what I was thinking. And maybe because the whole hands-off image he worked so hard to maintain kept him a further step removed from what was happening on the ground. He asked me to explain what had happened, how I thought Tramatky might have disabled the handprint scanner—I didn’t have an answer for that one—and if there was anything else I wanted to report. I wasn’t able to think of anything that might fit, so after a few awkward exchanges he concluded that we were done, and he dismissed me.

It wasn’t until months later that I realised the real reason Myles Dodge had called me in. He liked me. Liked my company. Unlike most of the prisoners, I wasn’t permanently arrogant or terrified. I wasn’t raging against the system that put me there. I’d accepted that they’d made me into a mod without too much in the way of complaint.

And maybe there was a philosophical connection too: pretty early in his career, Dodge had been wounded during a riot at an aeroball stadium: spine broken in four places. He’d never quite recovered, and had spent the next decade driving a desk, despite his protestations that he was strong enough to return to the streets.

Then in 2076, Governor Nkambule decided to see what bullets tasted like, and her job was suddenly vacant... and tantalising for Dodge. Solid work, a twenty-year contract with the option to retire at the end of it, and a hefty pension.

Judges don’t normally get paid, but the mining corporations on the outer planets’ moons are multinational, so they don’t answer to any one city. Plus it’s hard to persuade anyone to go, so the corporations tell potential guards and wardens, “We’ll put your salary aside for you, every month, in a high-interest account. When your term is done and you come back to Earth, you’ll get it all in one lump sum. You’ll never have to work another day in your life.”

And for Dodge there was the added attraction of Titan’s low gravity, about a seventh of that on Earth. Sure, inside the prison we had grav-plates on the floor to make it easier to get around, but they were rarely running at full-G. That had to be bliss for someone who’s suffered decades of back pain.

So I got to thinking that maybe Dodge saw something of himself in me: we’d both wanted to be Judges, but the system wasn’t flexible enough to accept that we differed from the standard model of a Judge.

I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong about that. Certainly, Dodge didn’t seem to have anything like that on his mind when Giambalvo and the others escorted me and Wightman into his office.

Sub-warden Copus was already there, standing beside Dodge’s desk with his arms folded and his brow furrowed. And so was Zera Kurya.

Copus said, “This is everyone,” but I couldn’t tell from his tone whether that was a statement or a question.

Governor Dodge looked around, nodded, and said, “We have a situation, and you people are going to resolve it. Four days ago a freighter outbound towards Mimas suffered a catastrophic failure. Its crew managed to regain enough control to steer it towards Titan. One hour ago it breached our atmosphere. That slowed its descent a little, but not enough. It hit the ground hard... and our long-range scanners are picking up possible life signs.” He looked directly at me. “You and Wightman are going out to find the crash site and retrieve any survivors and supplies. Kurya is here because back in East-Meg One she was a top-rated Med-Judge.”

Wightman said, “Yeah... I don’t think so. I’ve just come off a shift. There’s no law that says we have to...” He noticed Dodge’s scowl and slowed to a stop. “Damn it. All right.”

I asked, “Where did the ship hit?”

“A few kilometres south of Brunel’s Ridge.”

I knew enough about Titan’s geography to get an inkling of what we were facing. “That’s got to be five hundred kilometres from here.”

Giambalvo said, “Closer to six hundred.”

Copus glanced at Dodge-who very slightly shook his head-then Copus turned back to us. “Since our friends in Texas-City have yet to deliver on the shuttles they promised us eight drokkin’ years ago, we’ve got to go overland. The rescue party is the seven of us here. Not counting the warden, of course.”

Giambalvo said, “Sir, I can’t. The low gravity outside... you know how much it affects me. I was invalided out of the Department because my sense of balance is shot to stomm. In the low gravity it gets even worse.”

“The transport has grav-plates, Giambalvo. You’ll be okay.”

“I won’t be able to function effectively. I recommend Takenaga take my place. She understands discretion. Plus she’s logged more time on the surface than I have.”

Copus exchanged another look with Dodge, but this time the warden nodded. “All right,” Copus said. “Find her, brief her. Sloane, you’re the driver—get down to the compound and requisition the best vehicle you can find. Nothing smaller than a four-tonne. The freighter’s complement is seventeen. It’s unlikely that they all survived, but we have to prepare for that.”

Sloane said, “The big bus would do it...” He checked his watch. “It’s due to head out on the next shift.”

“Okay. Tell the quartermaster to talk to me if he gives you any trouble.”

As Sloane and Giambalvo left, Copus turned to me, Wightman and Kurya. “You all know how dangerous it is out there. We’re aware that with danger there comes opportunity. Any of you even think about turning on us, you’ll find yourselves—”

Kurya cut him off. “We understand. We are still prisoners.”

Wightman asked, “Just wondering, chief. Do we get anything for this? I mean, we’re risking our lives.”

Governor Dodge said, “We’ll talk about that when you return. They...”

He looked away as his voice trailed off, and that was when I knew that they were lying. This was not a rescue mission.

This was something else.

Something a lot more dangerous.