The Final Cut Read online

  An old woman sitting across from her noticed her discomfort and tried to soothe her fears. The woman - travelling back from a vacation - told Emmylou that MC-1 was unlike any city on Earth, and that if it ever fell, mankind would never see its like again. It was noisy, overcrowded and dizzyingly vast. The rattle of gunfire was never far away, and if you looked out over the skyline of an evening, you could often see the distant flicker of block wars burning into the night. The people were by turns selfish, greedy and breathtakingly gullible. And the Judges, they were like your guilty conscience made flesh. Those faceless lawmen patrolled the city weeding out troublemakers like grud's own avenging angels, coming down hard on anyone that stepped out of line.

  "But," the old woman said, raising one eyebrow, "no other city makes you feel so alive."

  Once the zoom pulled into the Mega-City terminus, the disembarking passengers had to pass through customs. Emmylou nervously presented her luggage and papers to the Judges on duty.

  "Business or pleasure?" asked one, flicking through her documents. His badge said his name was Holden. His colleague was running a scanner over her suitcases.

  "Business, I guess. I've come looking for work."

  "You and about four hundred million others," he replied dismissively. "Says here you came in from Pan-Africa. Sounds like a Brit accent to me."

  "I'm British by birth, yes."

  "Well, either way," he reached behind the counter and retrieved a clipboard, handing it to her, "read through that and tell me if you've had any of those diseases. Bear in mind, failure to do so constitutes a crime. We'll have to give you a quick medical, anyway."

  Emmylou glanced at the list and blanched. To her left, a respectable-looking businessman was being frogmarched into an adjoining room. "I lived in New Nairobi," she said indignantly, "not in the middle of the Radback. Where am I supposed to have caught this?" She pointed to one of the names on the list.

  "You'd be surprised," Holden said. "Kid came through yesterday claiming to be from Emerald Isle, and had buboes comin' out his ears." He stamped her papers and passed them back to her. "You've been granted a six-month stay. You want to stick around any longer, you'll have to apply for an extension in writing."

  "That was the plan."

  "Don't build up your hopes. This city ain't exactly the land of milk and honey." He motioned towards a female officer. "Judge Campbell here will conduct your physical examination."

  Two humiliating hours later, Emmylou was given the all-clear and allowed to enter the city. She recalled the old woman's words and thought that "alive" wasn't exactly how she would describe how she was feeling at the moment; more like utterly degraded. However, nothing could have prepared her for the adrenalin rush that hit her the moment she stepped onto the street. New Nairobi was bustling, but nothing compared to this; the Big Meg in full flight was disorientating to the point of nausea. Pedways criss-crossed above her like gossamer strands between looming buildings, sky vehicles honked at surfers and bat-gliders as they soared and wheeled, and behind it all the ceaseless roar of the meg-ways as sixteen lanes of traffic thundered constantly through the city. Bodies seemed to be everywhere, every way she turned, and she gave up apologising as she was bundled through the crowd and eventually barged into the mêlée like a natural.

  The robot cab drivers she found surly and unhelpful. Once she managed to master the art of flagging one down - which seemed to involve a lot of shoving and shouting - she then had to deal with their peculiar temperament. Evidently, whoever had programmed them had decided to channel into their circuitry every obstinate and teeth-grindingly frustrating trait known to mankind. After the driver had insisted on lecturing her on the full safety guidelines, she had had to repeat her destination several times while it checked the route with its internal map software, making an odd tutting noise at the back of its voicebox. Then, once they were in the air, the droid attempted conversation, though it sounded like it was building up to a monologue.

  "You on holiday?"

  "No. No, I'm here to find work."

  "Work?" The robot emitted a barking noise, which she presumed was the equivalent of a laugh. "Not a lot of work around here, luv. They give it all to us poor sods. Now, me, I'd be happy if a few more humes had a little more responsibility, you know what I mean? Might get them directing their energies into something a bit more worthwhile, 'stead of killing one another all the time. And if foreigners such as yerself want to come over and help us out, then all power to yer. Not as if we're short of jobs to do. What skills have you got? You looking for factory work, construction, what?"

  "Um, no, not really. I'm an actress."

  The driver looked at her in his rear-view mirror. "Actress, huh?" It paused. "Well, that's got its... merits, I suppose. Has its place in the social hierarchy. Must give people pleasure, I guess..." It trailed off, as if it couldn't think of anything to add.

  Emmylou took advantage of the silence to look out the window and take in her surroundings. They were flying at mid-height, the blocks stretching below her to City Bottom and reaching up as far as she could see to scratch the sky. Their enormity was terrifying. Off in the distance, she caught sight of the Statue of Judgement, something that she'd only read about, and again the size of the Big Meg was brought home to her. She had only caught a glimpse, but even from a couple of miles away it seemed to tower over everything.

  She suddenly realised the droid was talking again.

  "Of course, the city would fall apart if it weren't for us. We build your homes, make your food, sew your clothes, and recycle your dead. Thousands of years of human evolution have come to a complete standstill, to the point where you're prepared to sit back and let technology take charge." It sounded like the openings of a pet theory that the robot had been rehearsing for some time. "What's going to happen to you, eh? You rely more and more on meks to do your dirty work, and what are you doing with all this extra leisure time? Sitting at home and scratching your arses? You're becoming redundant, you know that? Humes gave away all their responsibilities because they felt it was beneath them, only to discover that they'd just lost their reason for living. And they couldn't get it back 'cause they knew we could do a damn sight better job than they ever could. So what's left open to them? To destroy. Man kills so he can feel alive."

  "And art," Emmylou said, believing she should speak up for the human race. "We can create art: music, literature, paintings, films. Something no mechanical can do-"

  "Art?" The droid sounded genuinely disgusted. "Since when has that ever changed the world?"

  Feeling more depressed than ever, Emmylou alighted at the slightly rundown George Bush Snr Block and found her lodgings. Her landlady, Mrs Petri, proved welcoming and not the least bit surprised by her aspirations to become an actress. She said she'd had plenty of prospective thespians come and go under her roof, though she had to admit that she'd never heard from or seen any of them again. Emmylou once more felt a twinge of panic pluck at her heart.

  Her search for work proved no more rewarding than it did at home. The parts she was offered were the same level of garbage that she'd attempted to escape, just done on a bigger scale. So many creds had been poured into these films that they had to secure a wider distribution to recoup their costs. While Emmylou tried to keep a straight face as she spoke her lines in movies such as Kazan's Legions and I Loved a Traitor General, she reconciled in her mind that her profile was wider than ever before and somewhere out there, an executive was watching a test shoot and seeing her as his next leading lady. Somewhere in the back of her mind, though, she knew this was a long shot.

  She never did receive an invite to a premiere - the nearest she got were the lacklustre wrap parties, which were spectacularly ramshackle affairs - but grew to find it mattered less and less to her. She spoke to her parents and Callum at least every week via vid-phone, and their absence occupied her thoughts more than she'd anticipated. Once again, she considered what she'd traded, and resolved to put a finite length on her Mega-City
adventure.

  On the evening of Tuesday, 6 April 2126, she was alone in the apartment, Mrs Petri having gone to visit a niece in the North-West Hab Zone. Emmylou was using a particularly lean period workwise to spruce up her CV, but found her attention was wandering from the computer screen. She gazed out of the window at the cityscape, watching a passing H-wagon swivel its arc-lights over the rooftops and walkways. Despite the press of people on every side, she felt alone.

  There was knock at the door. She glanced at the clock to see that it was 9:36 pm. Emmylou wasn't expecting anyone, but she knew her landlady was friendly with several of her neighbours and they often dropped by. When she padded across to the door and peeked through the peep-hole however, she was surprised to see a familiar face. The visitor was for her.

  She opened the door to the man standing there with two companions. They chatted briefly before she invited them inside. The three men crossed the threshold and quietly shut the door behind them.

  Now, as recent past events disperse like vapours, Emmylou dissolves too, matter changing form into liquid and gas. The earring shifts as molecules break down, and it catches in her skull. It will snag in a fracture in her cheekbone and there it will be found.

  At that moment, Dudley and Janice were sitting in their small apartment talking about their daughter and wondering what to get her for her birthday. They were hoping that she'd make the trip back to see them. Callum was acting in another vid-vert, this time for kneepads, and he was thinking that he wanted to get the hell out of the business.

  And Mega-City One, as ever, lives on.

  PART ONE:

  DISAPPEAR HERE

  ONE

  "The advice from Justice Department is to keep all windows shut for the next couple of weeks until the swarm moves on to another nesting ground. If possible, seal doors and vents. Remember, their sting is highly toxic - symptoms include vomiting, organ malfunction and internal bleeding. Any citizens who spots one within the city walls are asked to alert their local Sector House immediately."

  "Ugh! I wouldn't want to wake up with one of those in my slipper, Jerry."

  "Heh, me neither, Belinda. The Judges have issued a warning saying the little critters are extremely aggressive when provoked, so viewers would do well to let trained Verminator squads deal with the situation. We don't want Grandpa Joe going after one with a rolled-up newspaper and collapsing with a subdural haemorrhage."

  "Ha ha! But seriously, folks, let's be careful out there. Onto local news now, and the beautiful people have been out in force tonight for the opening of the brand-new Fred Quimby Block in Sector Thirteen. This upmarket apartment block has been under construction for the past year as part of Councillor Matheson Peat's programme to rejuvenate destitute and irradiated areas. His high-profile campaign to repopulate sections of the city with a more moneyed class of clientele has brought criticism from civil rights groups claiming that this kind of selective housing is driving a further wedge between the 'haves' and the 'have-nots', but Councillor Peat has stated that he feels he is merely rebuilding what has been shattered by conflict. Mike Johansson is on the scene now. Mike, how's the party mood?"

  "Hi, Belinda. Yes, as you can see I'm in the main reception hall of Fred Quimby and behind me the party is in full swing. There's been a strong turnout of famous faces, all adding their celebrity endorsements to this new project. Harry Hartley is here, fresh from filming the second Body Count movie, with his lovely wife Alissa. Game- show host Barney Cannon is holding court over there, and I can see Tony Tubbs has just squeezed through the doors. The one guest that the crowds outside are all waiting for though, is reclusive model, singer and actress Vanessa Indigo."

  "I should imagine the security must be pretty tight..."

  "Yes, the Judges are certainly making their presence felt tonight and keeping the onlookers under control. There have been a few arrests for minor disturbances, but nothing serious. The atmosphere is mostly good-natured and relaxed."

  "Mike, what can you tell us about the background to Councillor Peat's rejuvenation scheme and the significance of this block's star-studded opening?"

  "Well, Jerry, I'm hoping to grab a few words with the man himself in a moment, so you'll be able to hear it from the horse's mouth. But Councillor Matheson Peat has been in the public eye for many years now, most notably with his Phoenix Campaign, in which he has pledged to clean up areas of Mega-City One left ruined by disasters such as the Apocalypse War and build upon them anew. By no means camera-shy, the media-savvy Councillor Peat's track record so far has been very impressive, with a number of blocks dotted around the sector standing testament to his vision. His vocal patriotism and what seems an unabashed love for this city has lent him a great deal of support amongst a select cadre of very powerful friends, and it is well known that he has a cordial relationship with Chief Judge Hershey. As he's not reluctant to point out, they both share a common goal in, and I quote, 'pulling the city up by its bootstraps to face the demands of the twenty-second century and beyond.'

  "For Councillor Peat, high-profile coverage of openings such as this are vital to keep his campaign on the front pages and in the minds of his electorate. He's smart enough to know the attraction of celebrity, and has no doubt hired a quality PR agency to make sure all the right people have received invites. You only have to look around to see that this is a very tasteful cross-section of high society, and that sums up Councillor Peat's perfectly judged project - everything in its place at exactly the right moment.

  "And talking of perfect moments, here comes the instigator of tonight's celebrations... Councillor Peat? Mike Johansson, MCC News. Could you spare a few minutes?"

  "Certainly, Mike. I'd be glad to. I trust you're enjoying the festivities?"

  "Ha, yes, it's quite a party. You must be very pleased with so many guests arriving to witness the unveiling of another of your achievements."

  "Oh, I'm over the moon that so many of the great and the good could make it. This is a very important night, not just for me, but for the whole area and indeed for Mega-City One. Fred Quimby is a symbol of how we can pull ourselves up from the brink and stand tall. The Phoenix Campaign is all about rising from the ashes, and this magnificent building sends out a message to the world that the Mega-City spirit can never be broken."

  "It is indeed a truly spectacular piece of architecture. You used Barnfold and Robinson again, I believe?"

  "That is correct, Mike. Architects with a unique and daring sense of design, famous for constructing buildings that are as bold as they are revolutionary."

  "And quite prohibitively expensive, I would imagine. There is the criticism that whilst your clearance programmes are beneficial to the city in general, they are only creating residences for the wealthy."

  "Mike, it would be very easy for me to throw up slum tenements in disused sections of the city. But does that ever solve anything? One only has to look at somewhere like Cuidad Barranquilla to see the problems that that kind of housing causes. It was always my belief when I first undertook this personal mission of mine that I wasn't just going to cement over the ruins of the past, but draw something new from them, something to be proud of. And, yes, that does cost. But quality always does. I felt if I was going to do something for this city, it was going to be done right and proper and true."

  "So where now for Councillor Matheson Peat? Are you going to continue to build upon your successes?"

  "Oh, of course. I feel it would almost be an insult to Mega-City One to turn my back on it with plenty of work still to do. This great metropolis is constantly evolving, growing and changing with the times, and I want to be at the forefront of its bright new future. Don't worry, Mike, your viewers haven't heard the last of me."

  "I'm sure they haven't. Councillor Peat, thank you for your time."

  "It's a pleasure."

  "Jerry, Belinda, I'm off to get myself a glass of shampagne. This is Mike Johansson, live at the Fred Quimby Block opening, back to you in the studio."

&n
bsp; "Thanks, Mike. Seems like it's going to be quite some night, eh, Belinda?"

  "Certainly does, Jerry. Hopefully, Mike will be joining us tomorrow at six for our showbiz hour, filling us in on all the celebrity gossip that's fit to print."

  "Look forward to it. Now, men, do you suffer from weak bladders? Always making those inconvenient dashes to the public facilities? Well, the boffins at Tek Twenty-one have announced that they've been working on a very unusual device that could be the answer to your prayers..."

  "That's her, Dredd."

  Dredd turned his gaze from scanning the crowd to watch a sleek, white limo pick its way through the excitable throng. The windows of the vehicle were mirrored, but still the various members of the press were pushing up against the barriers as far as they could, lenses thrust towards the glass. Several Tri-D crews were positioned beside Fred Quimby's main entrance, their cameras all automatically sweeping towards the newcomer, eager to frame her the moment she made her appearance.

  The car came to a halt and the chauffeur nimbly jumped out and opened the rear door. A six and a half foot minder clad in a tuxedo and wraparound shades unfolded himself from the back seat, then stood to one side as a petite woman in a tiny black dress elegantly emerged behind him. A short, fat man followed and took the woman's arm in his. A second bodyguard was the last to leave the vehicle to tower over them on their left.