The Emperor's Jubilee

[Samus Aran]

Samus had chosen to be in her Power Suit. Though her regular clothing allowed her to be incognito, there was no point risking a quick death when she had no idea where the enemy was, or even if the enemy was there at all. Despite her stature, parting the crowds was like trying to peel apart glue. It was slow, messy, and mostly pointless and frustrating. Every other person she scanned for suspicious behaviour was trying to sell her some trinket or deep-fried, jubilee-themed snack; the other half wanted to take a photo with the impressive new prime. The events of the Nexus had been broadcast to the entire nation, it seemed, so many people knew who she was. Her patrols across the city had helped to increase her presence, so that now she was fairly well-known. But nobody yet knew what she was capable of. Perhaps she’d have a chance to show that today. Despite outwardly wanting nothing but peace, deep down Samus knew she wanted some action. It was getting too dull, too easy, and the hunter didn’t thrive in comfort. She was at her best when she was on her own, and being in the midst of this heaving mass made her feel useless, debilitated. If anyone attacked right now, she’d have a hard time doing anything without hurting innocent bystanders. Dredd was right to be worried.

The Judge himself was out of sight, in a nearby building. The outlay of the city was being projected out from a table, and it was being surveyed by himself and several of his higher-ranking officers. Nearby, several Space Marines watched the city below from blacked-out windows.

“If they’re going to strike the city, it’s going to be here,” asserted one of the officers, a man with dark, grey-flecked hair and a well-kept beard that jutted outwards from his chin. “It’s where the largest mass of people are concentrated.”

Dredd said nothing. He knew that already. What he didn’t know was why they’d seen nothing so far. It was already halfway through the day. If they wanted to strike, they had to have something in place already. Yet they’d seen nothing, done nothing. The festivities had already peaked. His logic told him that it had all been a hoax after all. So why did his gut tell him something still wasn’t right?

His communicator lit up. Dredd held up a finger to the table, stepped aside, and clicked the Receive button. “Dredd,” he grunted.

“What the hell is going on over there?!” came a derisive bellow through the speaker. “Are you a moron?!”

The Judge’s scowl deepened into a snarl. “Gero. Speak English.”

“I’ve sent you seventeen emails!” screeched the doctor. “Do I have to use this primitive technology to get through to you?”

“What?” Dredd flipped open the Dataverse unit on his wrist. “You haven’t – shit.”

“Oh, I see you’ve noticed now,” mocked the robotic doctor. “How someone like you managed to rise to such a level of-”

“Shut up. There’s no emails.”

“No emails?” The Doctor scoffed. “I sent them. They’re right here.”

Dredd addressed his officers. “All of you, check your Dataverse terminals. Are they working?”

They all flipped open their devices in turn. “Seems to be,” said the closest. They all nodded in turn.

Dredd brought the communications device back up to his mouth. “Gero,” he growled. “What were you saying in those emails?”

“Oh, now you’re too busy to read a simple email? Mister-”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

“For the love of … I can’t modify any of the city defense files. I know you’re a despot when it comes to your precious armed forces, but because of your thick-skulled tinkering I can’t access what I need to. You need MY genius in order to make sure all of the defense programs are running optimally, a fact you don’t seem to fully comprehend! Now if you’ll just--”

Dredd clicked the communicator closed. “Fucking moron.” He raised his voice. “Radio the troops, get those Primes over here right now! We’ve got a situation!”