There is growing unrest out in the Cursed Earth and more mutants than ever have succeeded in scaling the walls of Mega-City One and managing to wreak havoc. Most have been heavily armed with weapons that could only have been obtained from a Mega-City. When these events coincide with several major arms deliveries being uncovered and put to a halt with no chief perpetrators being caught, the Justice Department suspects that one criminal may be pulling the strings. After uncovering more details with the help of Judge Anderson's considerable psychic abilities, the Chief Judge assigns Judge Jam s Kirk to uncover who the main perpetrator is and what exactly he hopes to accomplish. To Jim's nervousness, renowned Judge Dredd is assigned to work with him.
If you are offended by slash... or simply by Dredd engaging in it, t his is not the fic for you! ! If you want to read this with explicit sexual content you can find it on An Archive Of Our Own.
There will be some POV switching every now and then. There will occasionally be Dredd, Anderson, Hershey and various "bad guys" as well.
Chapter One
This was originally supposed to be a short prologue about Jim's childhood but it got WAY too long. Oops!
Panting slightly, Jim shook his damp bangs back from his forehead and tilted his face up to the azure sky, closing his eyes. He spread his arms wide so that the sun, combined with the dust dry wind, would dry his clothing faster. His shoes were pretty much a lost cause.
When he opened his eyes, blinking the red and orange spots away, his gaze unerringly found one of the few gaps between the close-knit houses and he looked out across the land beyond Tarsus.
It looked deceptively flat from this angle, an expanse of parched, golden-brown earth that seemed to stretch on endlessly. It was dotted here and there with blurred brown, black, and gray shapes that Jim knew to be rocks. Even though Tarsus was the only home he'd ever known and the walls of the Mega-Cities far out of sight, his skin prickled. Looking out there, across that broad, wasted expanse always brought to mind cracked lips and raw throats. Crawling, pulling yourself forward on stick-thin arms like the mutants who occasionally managed to reach Tarsus before they died.
Then there were other things nearly as dangerous as the sun. Mangy, ravenous packs of malformed coyotes, large birds circling the sky waiting for you to drop your guard, and worst of all, hungry mutants who were so starving they wouldn't grant you the mercy of killing you before they started picking your bones clean. Of course, one should never forget about the Judges. The oppressors from the Mega-Cities. They didn't venture into the Cursed Earth often and Jim had never seen one, but all the same, where they went, death followed… Or so he'd been lead to believe.
The sun was at its pinnacle and blisteringly hot that day, but a shiver passed through him all the same.
A small, weak chuckle sounded behind him, causing Jim's eyebrows to draw together in annoyance. He turned his head and looked at his brother, Sam, where he was leaning against the newly laid jet-black rocks that ringed the mouth of the well. His feet were stretched out in front of him carelessly as he used his only hand to wring out the front of his shirt.
Sam was four years Jim's senior but smaller, skin paper-thin and so pale he was nearly transparent; his veins resembled blue worms crawling under his skin. Despite that, he wasn't at all sensitive to sunlight, which Jim found strange, though not as strange as Sam's right arm which ended in a smoothly convoluted stump. If you looked closely, the curled shapes of what had almost been fingers became apparent, furled tightly under the taut skin. When Jim was younger this anomaly had fascinated him and he would spend hours examining it. Now that he was a bit older, he supposed he should have found it frightening instead, but growing up in the Cursed Earth, he'd always been aware that Sam had gotten off lucky compared to most mutants.
"What's so funny?" he asked, trying to keep a scowl on his face and failing. He'd always found it difficult to maintain a sulk against his brother.
"Nothing," Sam said, idly tracing patterns in the loose earth with his left hand. "I just noticed you were thinking about those stories I told you." He grinned mischievously.
Instead of fueling his annoyance into anger, Jim's shoulders slumped in resignation and he didn't bother denying it. Unlike some of the other scary stories Sam told him, it was the true ones that terrified him the most. He crouched next to Sam, regarding the vast buildings that his brother had drawn into ground. As he watched, Sam used his thumbnail to etch out a complex roadway system that connected all of the buildings.
"Do you remember it?" Jim asked softly, trying to turn the dirt sketch to concrete in his mind's eye, to imagine multitudes of colors and the constant rush of traffic; the babble of hundred's of millions of voices. As always, he failed.
Sam's nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed. Vivid cerulean eyes. Kirk eyes. The same color as Jim's and their father's. "I was really young, Jim." He sighed and swiped his carefully made creation out of existence. "I dream about it sometimes, but I can't tell if I'm really remembering or if I just imagine I do." Sam pushed himself up abruptly, struggling to rise to his feet. "C'mon. We better get home."
Jim would have proffered a hand to help him up, but he knew Sam would only take that as an insult, so he simply sighed and stood, as well, dusting off his jeans. He kept a watchful eye on Sam, just in case it looked like he was about to fall. His skin may not have been sensitive to the UV rays, but he got injured more easily than most.
It was about time that they got back or Frank was likely to be pissed off... Well, more pissed off than usual. When Frank was angry at them, there were only two modes he seemed capable of choosing from. Mode One: Frank would fall into a sullen silence and give them both the silent treatment, as though it were some great punishment. Mode Two: Frank would get himself worked up and beat the shit out of them until his fury subsided, while simultaneously lamenting about his inability to obtain recreational substances.
Jim's left cheek was already swelling badly from the hit he'd taken an hour earlier and though he was used to Frank's rages, Sam oftentimes tried to get in the way of Frank's blows and he was much frailer. One of the punches that bruised Jim could break Sam's bones easily.
They had been tasked with the job of carrying several buckets of water back so Frank could bathe. Why, was a mystery to Jim. Frank was too fat for washing to have much effect for long. Even though everyone else -mutants and norms alike- were starving, Frank had somehow maintained his sizable girth and would sweat though his clothes again in ten minutes tops. He didn't even have hair to wash. He shaved his head painstakingly every week with whatever implement he could find that was sharp enough to get the job done.
When he'd told them to get the water, Jim had made the mistake of telling Frank, to his face, that maybe he'd lose some weight if he carried his own damn bucket. That had earned him the slug in the face that was sure to leave a whopper of a bruise. But it had more than worth it to see the fury sink itself into the already deep lines on Frank's forehead and between his brows. He might even have created a few more. Sam had been annoyed with him for "purposely causing trouble", but he'd let it go by the time they'd made it to the well and they'd spent a couple minutes having an immature water fight.
They quickly filled the three dented buckets (two for Jim to carry and one for Sam) and started the quarter-mile trek back to their home. Tarsus was small, housing only about three-hundred permanent citizens, less than fifteen of them norms. The only reason they'd managed to sustain their population was because of the well. It was unpolluted by radiation, clean and pure. Someone had dug deep for it, countless generations ago probably. It was the only decent drinking water for hundreds of miles. Attacks by desperate mutants were commonplace because of it, but they'd survived so far.
The well was in the center of Tarsus, surrounded on all sides by ramshackle houses, some just a couple of wooden planks hammered together with their malformed owners curled inside, watching the outside world with blank, pain-filled eyes. Most mutants in Tarsus weren't so debilitated, but many were.
All of the buildings in Tarsus had been assembled from scavenged bits and pieces of homes and buildings that had stood over a century ago, forced together like puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit. The result was far from picturesque, but it certainly complimented the landscape.
Here and there, the few norms that inhabited Tarsus walked about, automatic rifles held negligently in their hands, watching them pass with arrogant smiles. Jim scowled at them openly and would have given them the finger too if his hands hadn't been occupied.
He and Sam made it back to their ramshackle house eventually, through the open entrance (no door) to the kitchen/dining area, and set the pails on the mahogany table that George Kirk had unearthed when he and his family had settled in Tarsus after fleeing Mega-City One. He'd presented it to Winona Kirk on their tenth year anniversary after spending countless hours cleaning and polishing it as best he could with the limited materials he'd had. Sam had told him about it once, when Jim asked him if their mom ever used to smile.
Aside from the scratches, it was truly beautiful with its dark, varnished wood and the gold patterns inlaid around the edges. After setting the pails on the table and helping Sam with his, Jim traced his fingers slowly along them.
"About fucking time," that familiar voice rumbled. Jim looked over and saw Frank's large frame blocking the doorway to the main bedroom. "Wipe that look off your face, Jimmy," he snapped, eyes honing in on the downward twist of Jim's mouth, "and bring that water to the bathroom. Then you two need to go find something else to do instead of hanging around the house all damn day. Your mom's gonna be home soon, don't need you two wrecking up the place before she gets back."
Jim wanted to explode, to swear at Frank, to hurt him in some way. But he was too small. He might have tried anyway (it wouldn't have been the first time), but Sam laid his hand on his shoulder, giving it a warning squeeze. "Do as he says, Jim," he whispered, "then we'll go do something else. Besides, there's something I gotta show you. Remember?"
The delirious, enraged energy subsided slowly, leaving an unsatisfying low burn in its wake. He nodded stiffly, doing his best to ignore Frank's sneer as he carried the pails to the bathroom and lined them up next to the large chipped and rusted basin that they used as a tub. Unlike the table, it was an ugly thing, scavenged from god knew where by their dad.
"We need to stop by the well again anyway," Sam reminded him, grabbing a plastic cup from the shelf and following Jim outside. Jim slowed his pace so Sam could fell into step beside him, kicking a loose stone with the toe of his shoe and sending it skidding down the pathway.
"What is it you wanted to show me anyway?" he asked curiously.
Sam just smiled mysteriously. "It's a secret."
"I won't tell anyone," Jim said quickly.
"I know that, or else I wouldn't be showing you, dummy." He punched Jim's shoulder lightly, causing him to smile stupidly and give Sam's shoulder a gentle knock with his own fist in retaliation.
After filling the cup, Sam led him to the outskirts of the village, well past the houses and hopefully out of sight of the armed norms. The houses, dilapidated as they were, did shield much of the wind from reaching inside Tarsus. Out here it blew strongly, whipping anyone brave enough to venture out -with grains of dirt that stung irritably at exposed skin.
To his a disquiet, Sam led him out well past the town limits, to the places where the earth (which had been flattened around the area where Tarsus had been built) was littered with a debris of rocks, metal and other more random items. The spokes from a bicycle protruded sharply from the ground, promising to gore anyone stupid enough not to watch their step. They sidestepped something that looked like it used to be the steering wheel of a car and picked their way carefully across the ground until it dipped abruptly into a shallow, oval bowl. Jim raised his eyebrows when Sam proceeded down into it, but didn't protest. He failed to see what was so special about it other than the fact that it obstructed the wind enough for him to breathe normally. There were plenty of crater-like hollows exactly like this one. Then Sam crouched down, beckoning him closer.
There, peeping up at them, was a minuscule leafy plant, too green and perfect to be authentic. "Is it real?" Jim asked thoughtlessly, reaching out stroking it gently with his index finger. He pulled his hand back quickly, afraid of hurting it and shot Sam a wondering look. "Did you plant it?"
Sam shook his head. "Nope. I only found it about a week ago. I've been bringing it water every day, just in case. I don't know what kind it is" He suddenly looked forlorn and sat down fully, wrapping his left arm around his knees. "I wish dad were still here. He'd know."
Jim bristled. "Mom would know, too," he said, voice sharper than he'd intended. "We should show this to her when she gets back. It'd make her happy." His voice broke childishly on the last word and he looked away, blinking furiously, his initial happiness at seeing the plant evaporating.
"She might tell Frank," Sam said dubiously, picking at a spot on his elbow. Blood immediately began to flow and Sam uttered a mild curse.
Jim rolled his eyes. "You should know better by now." He pressed his t-shirt to the small scrape and held it there. "She wouldn't tell if we asked her not to."
Sam just shrugged noncommittally in obvious disagreement. Jim knew there was nothing he could say to change his mind, so he let the matter rest and his anger with it.
They reached an unspoken understanding to steer clear of any more delicate subjects for a while and ended up spending the rest of the day there, lying on their backs and gazing up at the sky, pointing out bizarrely shaped clouds to each other between Sam quizzing him on multiplication tables.
Eventually, as the sun began to set, they picked themselves up and dusted off their clothes. Frank would be pissed if they didn't come back, because he wouldn't want to have to fend off accusations of neglect from their mom when she returned.
They were only halfway back to Tarsus when Sam halted him, hand a striking bluish-white against Jim's darkly tanned arm. "What is that?" They shaded their eyes from the red glow of the setting sun (Jim with his hand, Sam with his left forearm). Set against the flat expanse of the west was a line of dark smudges.
Jim squinted, straining his eyes. A gasp left him. "People. Or mutants. Lots of them." His heart thumped harder in his chest and he exchanged an apprehensive glance with Sam. "Do you think it's mom?" Jim asked uncertainly.
"No. Mega-City One's in the east, dummy. Besides, there weren't that many people with her. C'mon." He took Jim's wrist in his frail grasp and hurried him back to Tarsus, both casting anxious glances over their shoulders the entire way.
They'd hardly made it past the first couple buildings, when all the armed norms rushed past them, ignoring them completely, eyes focused on the approaching party. Despite how much they loathed Frank, they couldn't very well keep him out of the loop, so they informed him of what was happening. He rushed off to get his own look, telling them (under threat of disembowelment) not to leave the house.
He came back over half-an-hour later, telling them that a man had arrived with over a thousand people under his command. Real people, not mutants… most of them anyway. He had brought food; clothing, weapons and (best of all in Frank's opinion) booze. He said he would be willing to give out some of these precious items in exchange for the use of their well. Apparently, he went by the name of Kodos.
OOO
1 Month Later
The scent of blood permeated the limited amount of air Jim had to breathe, catching in his nostrils. It was by no means an alien scent but far stronger than he'd ever smelled it before. Now it was accompanied with the sickeningly sweet smell of burning flesh which was even worse. It was cloying and thick; inescapable.
He would have tried breathing through his mouth, except that Sam had told once that it was harder for people to hear you breathing through your nose. As a precaution, Jim had his hand clamped over his mouth, fingers digging painfully into his cheek.
Years back, when his dad had been building the house, he'd had the idea of digging out a hollow in each room, before putting the boards in place, so they would have a place to hide in case enemies came to call. Jim had chosen the one in mom and Frank's room because it was the largest. He was unduly grateful for a spot to hide, but he was sweltering.
Sweat beaded on his skin, causing his t-shirt to stick to him uncomfortably, like a damp and wrinkled second skin. Sweat slicked his palms, dripping through his tightly clenched left fist and finding a home on the earthen floor. He was sure it was midday now, as it had gotten so much hotter. He was so thirsty; he would have welcomed a single bead of water on his parched tongue.
His entire body ached from being stuck in the fetal position for over ten hours … or had it been twenty? Jim had lost count a while ago, having drifted into a waking doze even through the screaming and the gunfire followed by something he'd never heard or felt the like of before. Something nuclear, perhaps. All he knew was that it had made the made the ground shake so hard he'd been afraid the house would collapse. But you couldn't stay awake forever and he had become almost desensitized to the various noises and rumblings after several hours.
He had only woken when the sounds had begun to abate. Now they'd stopped altogether. He supposed Kodos must have done in the newcomers who had arrived via hovercraft and was burning the bodies. A few had probably joined him, swelling his force beyond three-thousand. Smart or cowardly people who knew it was preferable to join Kodos over being tortured.
It could mean good things for Jim though. Perhaps Kodos assumed he had been killed by the firebombs that had been dropped from the hovercrafts yesterday. Maybe he'd already left Tarsus, unknowingly leaving Jim alive. Maybe he and his company were already well on their way to Mega-City Two.
Jim hadn't heard any noises for hours now and wondered if it would be safe to leave his hiding place. See if he could forage any food or supplies from the wreckage Kodos -and then the opposition- had made of Tarsus. He was lucky that his house had survived at all.
He was seriously thinking that it was time to leave when the rough cadence of deep, male voices sounded from much too close. The voices grew louder until he could make out actual words.
"-searched this structure yet?"
"Not yet, sir. We'll do it immediately."
"Be sure you do. We don't want to overlook anything."
Seconds later, Jim heard the trudge of heavy, booted feet entering the house and panic overrode his common sense, causing him to start violently and hit his head on planks above him with a resounding thunk. His hand pressed too hard against his mouth and he felt pain as his teeth cut slightly into his lips.
"What was that?" a female voice asked.
The footsteps halted and Jim's stomach to roil with apprehension, especially when they suddenly began again, approaching the room he was in with careful treads. He could tell there were more than two people.
"This room?" a male voice inquired quietly. Jim wished he could see where the man was indicating.
The footsteps grew closer and closer until the floorboards right above his head gave an alarming creak. A muffled gasp escaped him even through his hand. There was a moment of complete silence and Jim didn't breathe at all, hoping they would think they'd simply imagined it. That they would just walk away.
There was loud crash and splinters of wood rained down on him. He was momentarily blinded when a sudden shaft of afternoon sunlight pierced through the wreck that had been made of the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed at the sudden radiance after being so long in the dark, and then opened them slowly to half-mast. With his eyelashes filtering it, the beam of yellow-red light fractured into a kaleidoscope of dazzling colors, much too brilliant to belong in the broken, cruel world Jim inhabited.
His mind was screaming at him to get up. Now! To fight, make a run for it. But his body refused to listen. I'm dead, he thought. He was going to be slaughtered just like Sam and mom and Frank. Tears burned behind his eyes.
But, when gloved hands ripped up the rest of floorboards and reached down to grab him, a fury such as he'd never known erupted inside of him and he ignored his body's protests. Spitting with fury, he grabbed the thick wrist that was attached to one of the hands in both of his and twisted it hard, trying to with all his might to break it. The angle was all wrong though, so Jim tried to bite into it instead, digging his teeth into the leather between the armored panels and attempting to tear out the flesh beneath. There was a harsh curse as the man yanked his arm back, tearing it from Jim's grasp.
The sound of laughter from the woman boomed throughout the small room accompanied by a jest: "watch out, Marcus. There's a large rat under those floorboards."
"Don't shoot him," a voice ordered thunderously, cutting through the laughter like a whip. "Get him out of there and let me have a good look at him." The one whom Jim had bitten gave a snort of annoyance but proceeded to obey in silence.
Two pairs of hands reached back inside the alcove and Jim bit, scratched and punched at them viciously, all to no avail. One of the larger hands curled into a fist and smashed brutally against the side of his head and cheek repeatedly. Black spots swan before his vision and the iron tang of blood flooded his mouth, mingling with the tastes of dust and leather. He felt a couple of his molars rolling on his tongue.
Finally, his body gave up the fight and went completely limp. As he was dragged out, a broken nail caught on his leg and ripped through the fabric of his jeans, tearing into his calve painfully. His feet hit the ground and he would have buckled to the floor, except he was being held tightly in place by a pair of hands holding his arms behind his back.
As he became accustomed to the sunlight, Jim saw that the men standing in front of him were wearing uniforms that appeared to be a combination of leather overlaid with bulletproof vests and panels. They were carrying guns unlike any he'd ever seen before and their features were almost entirely obscured by heavy-looking red and black helmets that left only the lower halves of their faces free. His heart stuttered in his chest in horrified recognition. It wasn't Kodos' men after all.
Judges. Three of them. One holding him (obviously the woman) and two standing in front of him.
"You could have just stunned him." It was the Judge who had ordered them to get Jim out of his hiding place who spoke. "If I'd wanted to deal with this kind of ineptitude I would have brought along a couple rookies."
The uncomfortable silence following this statement was broken, when the woman Judge spoke again. "I don't think this one is a mutant, sir."
The Judge who seemed to be in charge stepped forward slowly at her words. He was thinner than the other man, but Jim could sense the respect the two held for him. Even through the helmet, Jim could tell the Judge was gazing intently at him. Jim wanted to drop his gaze to the floor, but resisted the impulse, glaring back with everything he had at his own face reflected back at him in the dark visor.
"Marcus. Get someone from the Medical Unit to come down here to take a sample of his blood," the Judge said after a few seconds of thought. "Then have your wrist taken care of."
"Yes, sir." The one named Marcus departed and while they waited for a person from medical to arrive the man issuing the orders made a quick inspection of the rest of the house. Jim watched and listened with dull resentment as he rooted through their things and opened the other cubbyholes, finding nothing and no one, just like Jim knew he wouldn't.
By the time he was finished searching, a young man with disheveled hair and a trying desperately to not look harried arrived, dark uniform slightly rumpled and a small metal case in hand. The Judge didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Take a blood sample of his blood," small nod in Jim's direction "and have it checked without delay. We have to be out of here in a few hours and I'd like to know what he is."
The… doctor, Jim supposed, opened the metal case he'd brought and pulled out a fresh syringe. Jim didn't even flinch when the needle was poked into his arm and his blood was extracted quickly and efficiently. The doctor left the house immediately after taking the sample to run said tests, Jim guessed. At first he had no idea why they would do such a thing... then he remembered when Kodos had first arrived at Tarsus. He'd tested Jim's blood too, before declaring that it was "pure". Several minutes after that, Jim had been forced to watch as they put a bullet through Sam's head.
"I'm not a mutant," he found himself informing them, voice hollow, blood dripping out when he opened his mouth. He was so tired; his head was spinning from this swift turn of events and the recent abuse his body taken and he was finding it difficult to worry about what would happen next.
"I don't think you are, but it's necessary for us to verify it." The Judge looked over Jim's head at the woman Judge holding him. "Find Ryan and have him search the remaining structures with you," he commanded.
She obeyed instantly and Jim almost fell to the floor as he was released.
"You," the Judge said to Jim when they were left alone. "Come, sit with me." He jerked his head in the direction of the dining room. Jim followed, feeling utterly helpless as he was ordered around his own home.
The Judge took a seat at the table, and indicated that Jim should do the same.
The urge to run had Jim tensing his limbs in preparation. But that would be stupid. Even if he managed to get out of this room, other Judges would be waiting outside. They'd probably shoot him. All he'd be -was a pale body lying in a growing pool of blood, blue eyes wide and unseeing-
"You don't have to sit. We can have this conversation just as well with you standing."
Jim tensed, having forgotten the Judge was there for a moment. He dillydallied, glancing between the chair and the door while the Judge looked on impassively. Finally, knowing the futility of any opposition, Jim pulled out one of the chairs and sat across from him. He had to fight to maintain a proper glare, as all he wanted to do was curl up and cry; grieve for his family.
The Judge reached up and slid off his helmet. He was a little younger than Jim had been expecting, though his hair dark hair was littered with threads of silver and permanent lines were just beginning to appear on his face. His pale blue eyes stared resolutely into Jim's, appraising him seriously. He looked hot, hair damp and matted to his head from wearing his helmet. A thin trickle of sweat ran down temple. "What's your name?" The way the question was phrased made it sound like the man had expectations, which made Jim curious in spite of himself.
"Jim," he answered reluctantly.
The man raised his eyebrows, causing a temporary span of creases to span his forehead. "Is that all?"
"Kirk," Jim finished. "James Kirk."
The Judge leaned forward suddenly, expression unsettled. "What's your middle name? Your father and mother's names?"
Jim had to look away from the intensity of the man's gaze. He wrapped his arms around his chest protectively, trying to keep from shuddering as the events of the last month rolled over him, threatening to break him. "George and Winona. I'm- My middle name's Tiberius."
The silence stretched for a good three minutes as the man processed the information. "Well, Kirk. I'm Judge Pike and-"
"I know," he interrupted tonelessly. "I read your badge."
"You can read?" There was genuine surprise in his tone.
"Yeah. My brother taught me."
The man, Judge Pike, shifted forward in his seat. "Do you know who your father was? Before he lived in Cursed Earth, I mean."
Jim's eyes were drawn to Pike's face again. "Yes. He was- he was a- a Judge. In Mega-City One." The words were bitter in his mouth. His mom, Sam, and even Frank had despised the Judges. They were dictators, who kept the mutants under their boot and tore families apart. Their only use out here in the Cursed Earth was a place for the inhabitants to direct their anger towards. "Did you know him?"
Judge Pike heard the revulsion in his voice. "Your father left the city of his own accord to escape justice," he stated firmly. "He was a good Judge and a good friend of mine before he broke the law. He believed in what he did. What we continue to do. I'm surprised he never told you about me."
Jim shrugged, "He died when I was two. I don't know what he thought about the Judges before he died."
A flicker of emotion crossed Pike's face, too quickly for Jim to read. "How old are you, Kirk?"
"Eight." He thought he knew what Pike really wanted to know. "He died of some disease. I don't know what. There aren't any doctors out here." Obviously.
Another stretch of silence, then: "If there are no irregularities in your genetic code, and you answer my questions about Kodos truthfully, I'd like to take you back with us to Mega-City One and have you take an aptitude test to enroll you in the Academy of Law. You're a bit older than we usually take, but…" he let the sentence trail off.
Jim's head snapped up fully, the emptiness in his chest where his family had been, filled with a conflicting mixture of disgust and utter elation and relief. He'd grown up being told to hate the Judges, so he had, but the chance to leave the Cursed Earth and to have a life of some kind in one of the cities; it was more than anyone else got to hope for out here. And he knew now the real reason Judge Pike had wanted to have his blood tested.
He opened his mouth then closed it again, torn with uncertainty.
"You don't have to give me an answer on that just yet. Right now, we have other things to discuss," Judge Pike said, reaching into his belt and pulling out a small silver device. He set it on the table between them. "Record." A small, blue light blinked on and Pike took a deep breath before saying:
"This is recording number seventeen, which will contain further information and evidence against the tyrant fashioning himself as Kodos, though the tyrant in question is now deceased." Jim felt an electric spark of aggressive joy and wonder at the last word Judge Pike spoke. "Interrogation of James Tiberius Kirk, a resident of the town, Tarsus, which resides in the Cursed Earth, being carried out by Judge Christopher Pike."
Judge Pike focused on Jim once more. "You will tell me all you know of the mutant named Kodos, and answer any questions I may ask you truthfully. I'll know if you lie." His voice was firm and commanding again. Jim half-expected him to put his helmet back on
Jim's throat felt dry and itchy, tongue thick with blood. He wondered if he'd be allowed a glass of water if he asked for it. "I don't know much," he said, licking his dry lips, "only that a month ago he and a lot of his men came to Tarsus." His stomach churned and he knew that the only reason he didn't puke right then and there, was because he hadn't eaten anything for almost three days. Taking a deep breath, he began talking…
It took nearly an hour for Judge Pike to wrangle every single little detail he could out of him about Kodos. Everything he had said or done that Jim could remember. Jim's voice was hoarse, vocal cords rough and raw by the time he was finished speaking.
"Recording complete," Judge Pike said, making a show of tucking the thing back into his belt so Jim could have a moment to collect himself, wipe his wet eyes with the backs of his shaking hands.
"Is he really dead?" Jim asked hoarsely. "Kodos, I mean."
"Yes. We burned his body and those of his men." Judge Pike pushed back his chair and stood up, sliding his helmet back on. "I'll be back in one hour with your blood results and your answer if they check out. Judge Marcus will bring you sustenance." He left without looking back.
Despite how hungry he was, when Judge Marcus (who was still holding his wrist awkwardly) deposited a tray of food before him, he could hardly eat a bite. The only thing he managed to keep down was the glass of water that had come with the food, using the first few mouthfuls to rinse the blood out of his mouth. He probed the ragged gaps where his molars had been with his tongue and wondered when he'd expelled them from his mouth. He kept a careful eye on Marcus who'd obviously been instructed to stay in the room to guard him.
His thoughts kept straying to his family and to the terrible things Kodos had done to the mutants who lived in Tarsus. Were the judges really so different from Kodos even if they had killed him? Would he be a traitor to his family if he tried to become a Judge?
Twenty minutes before Judge Pike was supposed to be back, Jim had already made up his mind. Not that it was much of a choice. Stay here to die a slow death by radiation or a quick, violent one by rogue mutants. Or go to Mega-City One to (maybe) be trained as a Judge and most likely die violently anyway. If Sam had still been alive he would have stayed. They could have made their way across the Cursed Earth, found a new place to call home. A real one. Devoid of Frank and their empty-eyed mother. But as things stood...
When Pike came trudging back into his Jim's old house, trailing fresh dirt (and unthinkable ashes) into the room, informing him that his test were results regular, Jim forcibly uprooted the bitterness that had been planted then cultivated inside him since he was born. He took a steadying breath and told Judge Pike calmly, that yes, he would be most interested in becoming a citizen of Mega-City One and taking a Judge aptitude test.
Pike's lips quirked upwards in something that could well be construed as a satisfied smile.