Judge Dredd - Lucky For Some

Hot on the heels of Dead Man Walking, the Megazine commissioned a story about the peculiarly good luck experienced by Judge Dredd. After 25 years as the face of the law, with adventures every week, how come he was still even breathing? I suggested Larry Niven's concept of luck itself as a psychic power, although that, of course, would leave anyone who possessed it open to charges of `impurity' in Dredd's future metropolis. The story hit the Megazine just after the publication of my Strontium Dog novel Ruthless, which was lucky…

_____

“Move it!” shouted Dredd from outside. “They could still get away!”

Morikawa began to chuckle, unsnapping his restraints, looking round in amazement as the other rookies woozily piled out. There really was no stopping Dredd. He was a shouting, shooting machine; that much was true of all the rumours they'd heard.

Morikawa dropped through the broken windshield, landing knee-deep in soft, damp sand. The long oblong gouges of Dredd's impatient footprints sloshed away towards the top of a sand dune.

This was more than just luck. This was blind, once-in-a-lifetime rookie luck, thought Morikawa. The H-wagon lay half on its side, half-buried in a dune, its crash turned into the softest of landings by tonne after tonne of damp, post-rainstorm sand. What were the odds, of hitting that dune, at that time, after that storm?

A series of loud gun reports was followed all too swiftly by answering fire. Slug rounds pinged and caromed after the dead hulk of the H-Wagon, and Morikawa saw his fellow rookies flinging themselves to the sand.

“High-ex!” bellowed a familiar voice from further up the ridge, and Dredd's Lawgiver launched an explosive round with its distinctive WHUMP. Morikawa couldn't resist a smile.

“Come on!” he shouted back at the others. “Dredd's showing us up!” Again.