Excerpt. Word Wars

Word Wars
Stevenson, Chris
ISBN 13: 9781897381298
Paperback, perfect bind, 5.5 x 8.5
Excerpt Word Wars © Rain Publishing Inc.



ONE

Mikus Harold Markus slicked his moist palms over his tuxedo pants and drew his shoulders back. He cupped his breath to test for that tell-tale sour, but the odor was lost in cheap aftershave wafting from his neck. He noted irritably that his pant cuffs dragged; Joanne had tailored the scratch-made suit but the alterations weren’t finished. He looked at the tips of his shoes and could count his teeth in the shine. So far so good.
He’d just walked down the gentle rise of Cathedral Hill and stopped before the overhead glidewalk. From there he could just make out the half-mile spires of Opal City over the residential complex, consisting of blocks and spheres that held mostly single family and bachelor residents. The only things that broke up the monotony of the gray and cream-colored geometric hovels were the imported elms and spruce trees that had been meticulously planted along the plasticine surface roads. There were very few shops and privately owned businesses in the Green sector – up-city was reserved for the collision and clutter of commerce. The sun dawned in the east, and the birds started whistling tunes. Puffy clouds walked in a windy sky. The air was sweet and day was making promises it looked like it would keep. Mikus felt entirely pleased about the start of a new day.
He pumped his legs up the ramp, silently assessing his suit and wondering if he looked 20th century. Joanne had insisted that it was common for “gentlemen” to adorn themselves in such a fashion; however, he suspected it was her feeble attempt at capturing some semblance of the past. What was the meaning of flared cuffs and a fluffy blouse? To blow one’s nose on them out of convenience? And the tie around his neck -- it felt like an animal tether.
This was a prime interview, the second most important evaluation to date, succeeding his vocational placement at the San Temecula Girl’s College. This is the proper attire for a first impression, he reminded himself again, even if it is a slice out of the past.
As Mikus neared the top of the ramp he checked his identifier bracelet (also known as the ‘wrist snitch’), just as a reminder. He was nobody, lost in a sea of humanity without the federally mandated bauble. The bracelet held everything in data storage from his criminal history to his credit allotment. He had to do nothing more than shove the bracelet pin into one of the many thousands of receptacles located in the city to make a transaction. As a primary source of his identity, he wouldn’t be Mikus Harold Markus, Citizen Patriot of the United Western Enterprise without it. As he anxiously checked his navigator, he wondered if Joanne was already on her way to rendezvous with him.
Mikus stopped just short of the glidewalk and observed the conveyor speed and pedestrian traffic. Somehow the gate had been left open and a green boarding light welcomed him to enter. A few standing riders, gripping the handrails, nodded to him as they glided by – some offered salutations, and a few sneered -- for they had come up from the south, the “upper poverty” class. Mikus was low middle income from the Green and wondered why they felt such a yawning chasm between his social standing and theirs. Browns and Blues didn’t care much for the Greens. Mikus lived in a chopper-gun-shot foam geodome just like seventy percent of the populace.
Watching the glidewalk speed near his feet, he decided he wouldn’t stop the conveyor via the hand post dial. The other Citizen Patriots had schedules to meet so he would time his leap onto the walk and catch himself along with all the rest of the flowing traffic. That would show that he was considerate, not to mention agile enough to perform the maneuver. It wasn’t his fault that the timer gate was open and showing green. Normally a rider would have to wait for a five-minute red light interval before the tram stopped to allow boarding.
Mikus inched forward to judge the jump speed. A passing face said, “Hoy, Citizen Patriot! Grand day!”
Mikus looked up. “Yes, it’s the grandest day.”
“It’s against the law to walk a red,” said someone harshly.
Mikus hesitated and stuck his foot out, his shoe toe testing the speed of the conveyor tram with a scraping hiss. He looked up feeling embarrassed, smiling wanly, trying to show he was a good sport but not afraid of public transportation.
“It’s against the law!” someone warned again.
“Hoy, my darling…it’s…me!”
Mikus heard the familiar voice pass by. He looked up and caught a glimpse of his girl-mate flowing down the glidewalk. It was Joanne, and so stunning and impeccably dressed in that gorgeous…
Mikus lost his footing and twisted awkwardly, falling forward. He caught himself but the fringe of his baggy cuff sucked down into the service crack between the frame and the moving conveyor. There came a wrenching tear followed by a tug of such force that Mikus flailed backward and hit the ramp landing. His pants and shorts were shorn from his body with one stark yank and sped down the glidewalk flapping like little flags.
Mikus got to his feet and threw himself on the conveyer tram with a thud-smack, making swimming motions, groping for the guardrail. He felt a strong hand reach down to assist him, just as he was getting to his knees and flashing his naked cheeks to the rear pedestrian traffic.
“Mama, look at that man,” said a small female waif, who might have been nine-years-old and on her way to a fashionable children’s school in the uptown Red or Yellow.
“Ho, my God.”
“Will somebody help that Citizen Patriot up, please?”
“I wouldn’t go near the druggard.” …