The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, MayJun 2023 by Sheree Renée Thomas Editor & The Magazine of Fantasy && Science Fiction

Author:Sheree Renée Thomas, Editor & The Magazine of Fantasy && Science Fiction
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science fiction, Fantasy fiction, Short fiction, Magazine
Publisher: Spilogale, Inc.
Published: 2023-05-02T00:00:00+00:00

• • •

Time remaining: 34 hours 12 minutes

KPI: –28 minutes

Roxy put her head on his thigh for a pat. Wasn’t meant to, and she knew it. Meant to be on her seat, no distractions for the driver. But Kev must have been getting soft in his old age. So he scratched her behind the ear, and she rested her graying snout there, hoping the pat would go on forever.

“Harmony.”

“Yes, Mister Campbell.”

“Food and water for Roxy.”

“Of course,” she replied, followed by a skitter-crunch as the dry food hit the bowl at the base of the amenities tower. It gurgled, too, as the cell wastewater emptied into a second bowl.

Kev waited until Roxy had started eating, and then pressed his fingers against the hidden tray under the dashboard. Thumbprint activated, it popped down. He snaked his fingers in and fumbled around for the smooth capsules nestled there. Found one, took it.

A noise rose from the back of his throat, involuntary: “Gaaah.”

The drug came at him raw and hard. Eyes wide open, heart thumping in his chest, he pressed the accelerator until the dashboard blipped. “Maximum speed reached, Mister Campbell.”

Kev tried to breathe, eased off the accelerator, slowly.

Accustomed, after all these years, to the amphetamines. The roaring in his head and his heart subsided, but now he saw the road so clearly and took the slow curve at maximum speed, sliding past a lone car, gleaming in a coat of solar particles. Fewer and fewer vehicles made the trek. Glimmer trains so much faster and smoother and comfortable.

He breathed.

Glint in the sky, up ahead. Probably a police drone.

The drone and the wake-up pill reminded him of the other thing. He fumbled around the container in his armrest.

“What day is it, Harmony?”

“Thursday, eighteenth of October, twenty-forty.”

He took out the syringe marked “Thursday,” filled with a yellow liquid. No cameras in the cabin. Union rules.

“Pee test.”

“Yes, Mister Campbell.”

A tube extended from under the steering wheel. He injected the contents of the syringe.

“Thank you, Mister Campbell.”

“No worries.”

“I have detected a proscribed substance.”

“What?” His fucken dealer. He’d kill him. That shady bastard. “What for?”

“For marijuana.”

“Weed?” Wouldn’t that be perfect? Pinged for one of the few drugs he didn’t take.

“There are only traces, and below the threshold. Thank you for your time, Mister Campbell.”

He breathed.

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