"Joe." A single syllable, weighted down with the past eighty years of life and experience.
"I'm here." He had come as soon as the transmission had come in, calling for a replacement and flying to the infirmary. It had been an inevitable moment in life, destined to happen six decades ago when the tests had come back positive. Anti-aging treatments could only achieve 10% maximum efficiency in mutants.
She had fought with all her heart for years against the inevitable, refusing to give an inch even as she aged and her friends and colleagues did not. She had walked her beat until she could walk no more, and then she had taken to a chair and she had she knew, every technique, every trick, she gave to the Academy. She took PreCog shifts in PSI, when she could get them, and taught Street Law when her fellow Psys grew discomforted by her presence. She didn't blame them. How could she when she felt their fear as keenly as she did her own? Her rage had been terrible and impotent as her blond hair turned white, her smooth skin wrinkled and her bones grew frail. She had known the fearful uncertainty of working as a Street Judge, but she had faced it with a partner, a department behind her. Old age she faced in terror and isolation.
Her sight was bad, rods and cones dying their own small deaths after ages of use, but she could still make out the bright red X on the black visor hovering beside her. Slowly, atrophied muscles protesting fiercely, she reached out to him, feeling the leather clad palm strong and unyielding beneath her hand. "Thanks for coming." It came out a wheeze, all effort and precious little sound.
"Can I do anything?" Her hand was so delicate, wafer thin skin drawn tight over trembling bird bones. He could remember this hand calm and steady wrapped around the grip of a 'Giver. Arcing through the air and delivering a powerful punch to an unlucky creep's jaw. Jabbed in his face to accentuate a point during an argument.
She chuckled, a soft watery sound, and coughed weakly. "Don't suppose you have a Cherry Chew?" She fought for her breath for a moment, then continued. "Doctors say no candy. As though it makes a difference now."
"Apple?" He dug a packet out of his pocket, shaking out a small green gel and holding it up for her.
"It'll do." She took the small treat with quivering fingers, fumbling it into her mouth and chewing slowly, savoring the sudden sweetness. "Joe. May I?"
He had known she was going to ask, it was another inevitability neither of them were capable of fighting. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the door is closed, though there was nothing he could do about the cameras. Part and parcel of being a Judge, but this should have been an private moment. Slowly, gravely he removes his helmet, balancing it on the nightstand beside the small hospital bed. Gently he lifted the old woman's hand to his cheek, letting it sit on his face cool and ephemeral.
She smiled her wrinkly smile, plucking weakly at the grey threads in his hair. He was getting older too, in his own way. Words failed her, as so much else had in the recent years, and instead she slipped into his mind. She had come here before, once, maybe twice a year as the dire circumstances of their lives dictated. It still filled her with awe, a place equal parts labyrinth and library. It felt different this time, welcoming, and she was delighted to find that he still remembered her as she was. Springing lightly from the damnable chair, Cassandra looked around, glossing over the memories he offered for her perusal. Their battles against the Dark Judges, the memorial to her 'Ultimate Sacrifice' and the undignified coffin of Boing!. Their brief, ugly sojourn into the Cursed Earth. Their trip to the Mars Colony to investigate rebellion and corruption. Infiltrating East Meg One and halting Armageddon at the terrible cost of 500 million human lives. And running, chasing creeps of all colors through all the streets and scenery Mega City One had to offer. No doubt, they had one hell of a time together. And the first time he saw her, on the other side of a panel of one way glass. The memory is worn, faded by time and colored by repeated recollection. A strange thing for a man like Joe Dredd to linger over. One reading had started their partnership. Now one would end it.
She was seized by a sense of urgency, and tugged on his mind, pulling him into this headspace with her. She went to him, afraid and unapologetic. She had lived alone, she would not die so isolated. Her arms, lithe and strong in this imagined place, circled his chest and she crushed herself against him, cheek pressed into unyielding body armor. "Remember me." It's a stupid last request, but it's the only one she can give words to. Her actions will live on in the Cadets she taught, in the division she helped build, person by person, case by case. Many of her colleagues will remember her without prompting, but Joe Dredd was special in ways she can't name. She forced a wicked smile, for her own benefit as much as his. "Maybe now I'll be able to deal with Judge Death permanently."
He held her tightly. There was nothing but his thoughts to censure them here, no prying eyes to witness this last embrace. Words strangled themselves in his throat, and a sense of desolation threatened to engulf him. He fought it down, he would go on. He always went on. Her promise of finding the Dark Judges again evoked a strange, tender feeling inside. Someday he'd like to join in that undertaking. Gently he rested his cheek against the top of her golden head. "You did good, Cass. You did real good."
She smiles up at him through a glassy sheen of tears, stretching up on her toes to plant a kiss, dry and feather light, gone in an instant on his cheek. A ripping sensation, something deep inside her finally giving way and she felt like she was being split in two. She fought instinctively, unable to just stop living after a century of habit.
Dredd was thrown violently from his mind space, coming back into his body as beside him the body of Cassandra Anderson shuddered and went limp.
Judge Cassandra Anderson died. Speculation and rumor proliferated at the speed of sound in the hours following the moment, suspicions of foul play or suicide, but Joe Dredd knew better. Everybody died, and Cassandra Anderson had gone peacefully, painlessly. He growled at anyone who dared ask him about that last private minute and went back to work.
Chief Justice Barbara Hershey was in urgent meetings all day and heard the news a day later. She was quiet for a minute, then made the requisite arrangements for a state funeral with her logistics department, and retreated with all possible dignity into her study. Solemnly, she made the calls, checking for any lingering business that Judge Anderson might have left unattended. There was no nest egg, no children, no spouse, no family. That might put to rest the rumors that had circled her and Joe for so many years, but her heart broke for the dead women's loneliness. Anderson, empathetic tactless Cassandra Anderson, had made it a pet project to find her fellow Judges companions. Partners in Heart she had called them cheekily, leaving it up to her friends how they interpreted the Monastic Code. It was tragic that someone so sweet and caring had no children to spoil and scold, no spouse to hold. Steeling herself, Hershey left her sanctuary to locate her oldest friend.
She found Joe at the practice range, continuing his mad pursuit of perfection with the model 2100 Lawgiver. Decades out of date and he still carried the old thing at his hip, though he had more than sufficient proficiency with the newer Tek stuff. The technology might change, the world might change, but he would still be the waited until he finished the round before approaching. "You feeling ok?"
Dredd frowned and grunted, his default reaction.
He couldn't fool her, not after 90 years of this sort of conversation. "I'll miss her too." Hershey agreed quietly, "Her funeral's set for 1500 this Sunday. Do you know what she wanted done with her remains?"
A pointless fucking question, though he could grudgingly accept that Hershey's heart was in the right place. Dredd shrugged. Death was always a taboo subject between partners. Cassandra had occasionally reflected on taking the Long Walk when the time came, it had followed logically she didn't care much what happened to her mortal coil. Out in the Cursed Earth or the Undercity she would have fed carrion or maybe received some perfunctory Mutie burial. Maybe she would have liked that. He'll never know for sure.
The lack of response suited Hershey's purposes, as long as she wasn't going explicitly against Anderson's wishes, she had no trouble making the arrangements. "Do you want to give a speech?"
Dredd considered the question as he cleaned up the practice station. Did he want to give a funeral speech? No, he didn't want to. He's never been articulate, and Cassandra would have laughed to know he was even considering it for her. She had brought honor to herself, her people, her profession, through her actions. Words were just excess. He shook his head, negative. "You do it."
It's enough that Dredd had given it some thought, and Hershey tried to be satisfied. Her grief hurt though, and Dredd was being even more of a tight-lipped dick than usual. He was her friend too, as much as Anderson was. "You know you can talk to me, Joe. She was my friend, too."
"She was everyone's friend," Dredd bit out, harsher than he had intended. "But she was my partner." He took his box of bullets and his Lawgiver and stalked away, feeling like the lowest scum on Earth.
A mutant died a hero and Justice mourned.