hide-and-seek or kicking a plastic-sphere around. It’s popular with the kids, too, of course.
Yeah, okay, I’ll get back to my story. I’m only telling you all this about the Park and all, ’cos I know that a lot of guys live in Blocks where they don’t even have a Park. Anyway, what happened to me goes to prove that the theories of social delinquency might not be all they’re cracked up to be. I mean, when a guy like me, a guy from a nice Block, a guy with an interesting hobby, and a cool Plaza to cruise and a Park, even – when a guy like that ends up as a perp, where do you put the blame?
I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know my answer: Willy the C. He’d got what he wanted – I’d come to the Park – but that wasn’t enough. Nossir. Right away Willy wants to go and join some under-twelves who’re feeding the robo-ducks on the synthi-pond. I rolled my eyes in mock horror that wasn’t so mock.
‘C’mon, man, you must be joking!’ I pointed dramatically at my still-whirling, still-flashing kneepad. ‘I didn’t put this little beauty on so’s I could sit with the kiddos and feed the robo-duckies. I don’t even like robo-duckies!’
Willy wasn’t listening to my protest. He was looking off to the side, where one of the robo-ducks was waddling jerkily towards us. Usually they move with a strange sort of mechanical grace, but this one was sparking and twitching like it had blown a circuit. It flapped its wings in slow-motion as it came towards me. Stupid. I don’t know why they needed robo-ducks in the first place, unless it was to please the senior citizens. Some of them swore they could remember when there were real ducks, though I don’t believe ’em myself. Real ducks died out a long time ago. I know there’s mutant ducks out there out in the Cursed Earth, but they live on oil. They couldn’t survive in the water. Not even synthi-water. So I guess that’s why they got robo-ducks for the Park’s ponds.
Anyway, I suddenly realised what this particular duck was up to. Its scanners must have picked up the rainbow flash of my windmilling kneepad, and somehow the dazzling light had fused a circuit in the machine’s micro-brain.
‘Hey – get back, you dumb robot!’ I waved my hands at it and took a couple of steps backward. The crazed duck didn’t falter. It changed course and came zooming in straight at my knee – only now its bill was opening and closing with a loud SNUPP.
It lunged. Quicker than the eye could follow – well, quicker than I could dodge aside – its neck darted forward. Its bill closed with great force and a loud SNUPP. Right on my kneepad. SNUPP went the bill and CRUNCH went my beautiful kneepad. Smashed useless.
That’s when it happened. I lost my temper.
RED MIST
I’d come close to it before, of course – everybody does at one time or another. But always in the past I’d remembered what the teaching droids used to drum into us at school: control your emotions. Losing your temper only causes trouble.
I suppose you guys reading this already know the ways out of losing your cool: like swallowing your pride and walking away, or counting up to 50, or visualising a stern robotic face listing all the hassles a lost temper can cause. ’Cos when tempers are lost, there are always consequences. Why, I even heard a rumour that the biggest civil disorder the Mega-City ever witnessed – Block Mania – was started by just one woman blowing her stack. Melda Dreepe, her name was; there was some graffiti about her on our Block Hall walls. But as I stood by the side of the synthi-pond and looked down at the fragments of junk that only moments before had been my Numero Uno kneepad, I forgot all about controlling my emotions. A red mist seemed to spread in front of my eyes, and there was an ominous roaring in my ears. Like it was coming from a whole sector away, I could hear that stupid kneepad-mangling duck quacking... kwaak... KwaaK... KWAAK!
I erupted. It was
Yeah, okay, I’ll get back to my story. I’m only telling you all this about the Park and all, ’cos I know that a lot of guys live in Blocks where they don’t even have a Park. Anyway, what happened to me goes to prove that the theories of social delinquency might not be all they’re cracked up to be. I mean, when a guy like me, a guy from a nice Block, a guy with an interesting hobby, and a cool Plaza to cruise and a Park, even – when a guy like that ends up as a perp, where do you put the blame?
I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know my answer: Willy the C. He’d got what he wanted – I’d come to the Park – but that wasn’t enough. Nossir. Right away Willy wants to go and join some under-twelves who’re feeding the robo-ducks on the synthi-pond. I rolled my eyes in mock horror that wasn’t so mock.
‘C’mon, man, you must be joking!’ I pointed dramatically at my still-whirling, still-flashing kneepad. ‘I didn’t put this little beauty on so’s I could sit with the kiddos and feed the robo-duckies. I don’t even like robo-duckies!’
Willy wasn’t listening to my protest. He was looking off to the side, where one of the robo-ducks was waddling jerkily towards us. Usually they move with a strange sort of mechanical grace, but this one was sparking and twitching like it had blown a circuit. It flapped its wings in slow-motion as it came towards me. Stupid. I don’t know why they needed robo-ducks in the first place, unless it was to please the senior citizens. Some of them swore they could remember when there were real ducks, though I don’t believe ’em myself. Real ducks died out a long time ago. I know there’s mutant ducks out there out in the Cursed Earth, but they live on oil. They couldn’t survive in the water. Not even synthi-water. So I guess that’s why they got robo-ducks for the Park’s ponds.
Anyway, I suddenly realised what this particular duck was up to. Its scanners must have picked up the rainbow flash of my windmilling kneepad, and somehow the dazzling light had fused a circuit in the machine’s micro-brain.
‘Hey – get back, you dumb robot!’ I waved my hands at it and took a couple of steps backward. The crazed duck didn’t falter. It changed course and came zooming in straight at my knee – only now its bill was opening and closing with a loud SNUPP.
It lunged. Quicker than the eye could follow – well, quicker than I could dodge aside – its neck darted forward. Its bill closed with great force and a loud SNUPP. Right on my kneepad. SNUPP went the bill and CRUNCH went my beautiful kneepad. Smashed useless.
That’s when it happened. I lost my temper.
RED MIST
I’d come close to it before, of course – everybody does at one time or another. But always in the past I’d remembered what the teaching droids used to drum into us at school: control your emotions. Losing your temper only causes trouble.
I suppose you guys reading this already know the ways out of losing your cool: like swallowing your pride and walking away, or counting up to 50, or visualising a stern robotic face listing all the hassles a lost temper can cause. ’Cos when tempers are lost, there are always consequences. Why, I even heard a rumour that the biggest civil disorder the Mega-City ever witnessed – Block Mania – was started by just one woman blowing her stack. Melda Dreepe, her name was; there was some graffiti about her on our Block Hall walls. But as I stood by the side of the synthi-pond and looked down at the fragments of junk that only moments before had been my Numero Uno kneepad, I forgot all about controlling my emotions. A red mist seemed to spread in front of my eyes, and there was an ominous roaring in my ears. Like it was coming from a whole sector away, I could hear that stupid kneepad-mangling duck quacking... kwaak... KwaaK... KWAAK!
I erupted. It was
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