Read Online Psykogeddon by Dave Stone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dave Stone
Tags: Science-Fiction
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submit," he said, "that 'cruel and unusual' is precisely what any punishment needs to be, if it's to be in any way effective. I seem to recall some suitably self-satisfied and rabid thinker saying as much, in history. Be that as it may, you're simply storing up trouble by stockpiling people like this and keeping them healthy, if you want my advice."
"I'll never want your advice, Drago San," Dredd said.
"I'm merely saying," said Efil Drago San, "that with my... somewhat specialised experience, I'm in the ideal position to suggest improvements to your systems of punishment. Rather like I was able to do for the Boranos Accord." He grinned wolfishly. "I wouldn't even ask for any special consideration. Just the satisfaction of having been of help in some small way."
"Just the satisfaction of knowing that you've made the lives of others that little bit more miserable," growled Dredd.
"There is that, of course," said Efil Drago San. "We are all of us slaves to our most basic of impulses, are we not?" Again his flesh jiggled in what might or might not have been an unconcerned shrug. "Oh well, have it your own way. If we're going to talk about events out of the ordinary, then why are you here? I gather that it's not the usual practice to visit a prisoner after he's banged - I believe the term is - up."
"Your old friends from Brit-Cit are exerting pressure," said Dredd.
"Old friends?" Drago San pursed his lips in a somewhat overplayed moue of consideration. "I wasn't aware, to be frank, that I had any friends left there of any description."
"The Brit-Cit Justice Department is demanding your extradition," said Dredd. "They want you to pay for your crimes committed on Brit-Cit soil and they're making a stink about it.
"Ordinarily, we'd tell 'em to go drokk themselves, but... certain recent factors have left us overextended. We can't afford an increase in international tensions. It's been decided to hold a hearing."
Efil Drago San regarded Dredd impassively for a moment, and then his face split open in a delighted grin.
"Can it be?" he said. "If I understand you correctly - and please feel free to correct me if I don't - that you are actually contemplating putting me through the procedures of a fair trial? Bit of a first for you, there, Dredd, if I say it myself."
SIX
"No arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."
- Thomas Hobbes
Leviathan
The lower levels of Shangri La were basically the equivalent of the Servants' Quarters in one of those mansions owned by rich parasitical drokkers in the old days.
One might have thought that, in these days of advanced cybernetics, the entire concept of human servitude would be redundant, but the opposite was in fact true.
Almost anyone with enough money to speak of - could buy a robo-servant, and where was the cachet in that? And with the advances of automation in every other walk of life, the world was full of people desperate for any job at all, at any wage, people willing to spend their lives walking around in the costume of a manservant or a maid.
Sheer population-pressure had turned these Servants' Quarters into a self-contained community in its own right, with its own pecking order and rituals - a whole quasi-spiritual pseudo-religion concerned with serving the People Above.
The Shangri La Towers, in fact, contained two distinct worlds: Those Above and Those Below. These worlds only intersected at certain points - another way in which Shangri La was similar to a mansion, or some such, owned by rich parasites in the past.
Dredd walked through access corridors packed with Butlers making stately Procession, like medieval abbots attended by their retinues of acolytes, and the bustling forms of Personal Assistants and their own attendants, every bit as splendid as the Butlers in their own way but with sharper suits.
Footmen in their various liveries
"I'll never want your advice, Drago San," Dredd said.
"I'm merely saying," said Efil Drago San, "that with my... somewhat specialised experience, I'm in the ideal position to suggest improvements to your systems of punishment. Rather like I was able to do for the Boranos Accord." He grinned wolfishly. "I wouldn't even ask for any special consideration. Just the satisfaction of having been of help in some small way."
"Just the satisfaction of knowing that you've made the lives of others that little bit more miserable," growled Dredd.
"There is that, of course," said Efil Drago San. "We are all of us slaves to our most basic of impulses, are we not?" Again his flesh jiggled in what might or might not have been an unconcerned shrug. "Oh well, have it your own way. If we're going to talk about events out of the ordinary, then why are you here? I gather that it's not the usual practice to visit a prisoner after he's banged - I believe the term is - up."
"Your old friends from Brit-Cit are exerting pressure," said Dredd.
"Old friends?" Drago San pursed his lips in a somewhat overplayed moue of consideration. "I wasn't aware, to be frank, that I had any friends left there of any description."
"The Brit-Cit Justice Department is demanding your extradition," said Dredd. "They want you to pay for your crimes committed on Brit-Cit soil and they're making a stink about it.
"Ordinarily, we'd tell 'em to go drokk themselves, but... certain recent factors have left us overextended. We can't afford an increase in international tensions. It's been decided to hold a hearing."
Efil Drago San regarded Dredd impassively for a moment, and then his face split open in a delighted grin.
"Can it be?" he said. "If I understand you correctly - and please feel free to correct me if I don't - that you are actually contemplating putting me through the procedures of a fair trial? Bit of a first for you, there, Dredd, if I say it myself."
SIX
"No arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."
- Thomas Hobbes
Leviathan
The lower levels of Shangri La were basically the equivalent of the Servants' Quarters in one of those mansions owned by rich parasitical drokkers in the old days.
One might have thought that, in these days of advanced cybernetics, the entire concept of human servitude would be redundant, but the opposite was in fact true.
Almost anyone with enough money to speak of - could buy a robo-servant, and where was the cachet in that? And with the advances of automation in every other walk of life, the world was full of people desperate for any job at all, at any wage, people willing to spend their lives walking around in the costume of a manservant or a maid.
Sheer population-pressure had turned these Servants' Quarters into a self-contained community in its own right, with its own pecking order and rituals - a whole quasi-spiritual pseudo-religion concerned with serving the People Above.
The Shangri La Towers, in fact, contained two distinct worlds: Those Above and Those Below. These worlds only intersected at certain points - another way in which Shangri La was similar to a mansion, or some such, owned by rich parasites in the past.
Dredd walked through access corridors packed with Butlers making stately Procession, like medieval abbots attended by their retinues of acolytes, and the bustling forms of Personal Assistants and their own attendants, every bit as splendid as the Butlers in their own way but with sharper suits.
Footmen in their various liveries
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