Sweet Justice by Neil Gaiman Read Free Book Online Page B

circles like a top-notch boinger, agiley avoiding the couple of giggling senior citizens who were trying to catch it.
    I glanced again at Willy and our eyes locked. I could almost smell his fear. A Blocker was dead – a robo-duck was badly damaged – and even though it was an accident, we knew who was going to get stuck with the blame. US!
    Panic swept over me in an icy wave. ‘Get outta here,’ a voice inside me seemed to shriek. ‘Move! Get away! Run!’
     
    JUDGED
     
    My blood felt as cold as a freezipop, and I lost all control. My shaking legs started to run, and I couldn’t do nothing to stop them. I mean, I didn’t want to run away; the real me wanted to stay and explain everything to the Judges who would soon be on the scene. It was the panic that made me run, not me.
    (I tried telling the Judges that too, but it didn’t make any difference. Evidently every citizen is responsible for his own actions and reactions, unless he’s a Futsie in which case Future Shock gets the blame.)
    ‘Let’s move,’ I yelled, and Willy – his mouth hanging open like he’d just seen Conrad Conn in person – came hurtling up the plasti-grass slope behind me.
    We hadn’t gone more than twenty meters when a security robot came buzzing over the brow of the low hill and braked to a halt in front of us. ‘Stop!’ its voke-box blared. ‘Stop! Stop!’
    And like a mugh, Willy the C stopped.
    I dodged past it, then hesitated. ‘Judges have been summoned,’ the robot was saying. ‘Citizens should not leave the area until they arrive.’
    My heart was hammering like a bike cannon on full blast. If we were still there when the Judges hit the scene, they’d nab us for sure. Too many citizens had witnessed the incident– and now this security job would have our images on its vid-tapes. We’d be identified as the perps, and we’d be judged .
    ‘It’s no good, Milton,’ Willy announced wearily, and his resigned, scared voice sounded like it was my own conscience talking. ‘Judges are coming. We’ll never get away. Let’s just give ourselves up, and they might go easy on us. Though they probably won’t,’ he added as an afterthought.
    If I’d been in my right mind, I’d have listened to him. But panic was still surging through me, and the roaring in my ears blocked out the voice of reason. I had to get away from there – get outside the Block, lose myself in the millions of citizens swarming round the City’s streets.
    The security robot moved towards me, raising its arms. I ignored it. Everybody knows that every robot in town is programmed so’s it can never hurt a human being. All a security droid is good for is hollering Judge !
    I took off again, and ran full pelt down the other side of the slope. A couple of citizens dived out of my path – luckily for them. And me, I suppose. I gave a sigh of relief when I saw I was headed directly for the Block Park’s Buggy Park, the plasticon wayby where those citizens too tired, poor or lazy to walk from their apartments could park their vehicles.
    They ain’t much, these Block buggies – just a meter-square box with a tiny hover-engine fitted, big enough to carry a couple of people to the Block’s remoter areas.
    But to me, the buggies spelled freedom.
    A guy with a biotronic arm was just starting his buggy up when my crazy run brought me skidding to a halt beside him. He looked up in surprise – just in time to see my fist hammer out at him. It hurt me almost as much as it hurt him. I sucked at my knuckles as I pushed his unconscious form out of the buggy-box and jumped in myself. I grabbed the easy-to-use control stick in my good hand and hauled back on it. The buggy shot skyward.
    I levelled out about 20 meters up and glanced down to see what was happening. Willy the C was still on the slope, on his knees now, sobbing violently and beating his fists on the plasti-grass. The security robot was rolling in tight little circles, still yapping about Judges and stop.