michaeljasper.net
This was my first attempt at SF in a long time, and I enjoyed it. It was fun turning Raleigh into a futuristic city overrun with traffic. This was also one of the stories that helped get me into Clarion.
I must admit, this story was a lot of fun to write. I guess it's because I got to wreak havoc on those creatures who are the bane of any college student - the parking cops. If I ever find the one who gave me a ticket for parking illegally when the streets were coated with ice and the only place that was clear was the common parking lot... Until that time, there's this story.
"The Deck" first appeared in Windhover in May 2003. It was reprinted at Fictionwise.
| The Deck At 8:35 a.m., the nerves in his tongue deadened by his second injection of antidepressants, antioxidants, and antibarbituates, Officer Nathaniel Ardamis Strickland began his second shift of enforcing the Old Raleigh Downtown Parking Deck. He’d just spent an hour and a half at the Capitol Building on Wilmington Street, tabulating his previous shift’s tickets, checking out his ammunition, accounting for any third strikes, and getting his injections. Since it was a double shift, he was allowed an extra 100 ccs of his choice. Feeling slightly fatigued, he enhanced his dosage with his own specially-designed stim cocktail. He had a reputation to uphold. Strickland started his rounds on the top level of the Deck, thudding his thick right hand absently on his holster. He stood six eight and weighed in at two eighty, all muscle and sinew thanks to a strict diet of outlawed red meat along with a steady flow of cutting-edge pharmaceuticals from the Research Triangle Park in the heart of Raleigh-Durham. After only thirty paces and twenty cars, he stopped at a lime-green ultracompact with an expired registration holo above the windshield. His lips twitching, he punched in the license number on his handheld. The illegal parker, Bonnie McNamara, had one other ticket on her record. The twitching in his lips became a smile. Strickland pulled a seven-inch, laser-sharpened knife from inside his boot and pressed the blade into the thin rubber tire behind Bonnie’s driver side door. Air hissed out like a man kicked in the stomach. While he punctured the other three tires, his handheld computer printed out a red and white ticket. His tongue was still numb. Sliding the knife back into his boot, Strickland lodged the violation under a wiper blade with a suddenly shaky hand, snapping the flimsy blade like a twig. The stims were inconsistent sometimes, and his arms now felt leaden and full of pins and needles. Officer Strickland continued his rounds, stepping quickly in dull black boots that made no sound on the concrete rows of the Deck.
Continued... |
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