From: strake@coos.dartmouth.edu (strake)
Subject: Running Away
Date: 5 Aug 92 13:59:06 GMT

I felt a strong urge yesterday to continue the rigger story.  This came out.
As usual thoughts, and comments are welcome. At the moment I'm really looking
for a direction to take it in. Anyone need a rigger. He's not just a biker,
he only prefers it. Suggestions are welcome.

* Quick Summary *
   Kidd is a rigger for a corp. he met a woman through the net, fell in love.
   They had StimSex, he really fell in love. the next day he couldn't find
   her. Found out from a friend of hers that she had died fighting for the
   rebels during a skirmish. Strong evidence points to his being in that
   skirmish. He believes he's the one that killed her.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. That face, her body, the fingers which
had caressed his net-form, and the lips whose impression he could still feel
even though they had never truly touched his. It had been so beautiful that
night. Who cares that is was StimSex. Who cares that she only existed as
someone else's thought-form. The care, the tenderness, the love was real.
Nothing could change that. Except now she was gone. He tasted his tears as
his redirected tear ducts emptied themselves into his mouth. He swallowed, a
choking half-sob. He had killed her. His own thoughts had killed her,
casually without thinking. Now his love was dead. How was he to know that she
was a rebel. He couldn't have known. There was nothing he could have done.
        He screamed at that. All the pain and frustration and rage erupted
from his body with so much energy that his bike nearly went airborne as its
engines thrust forward. He let the rage fill him. He extended the pain of his
heart out to his limbs and from there to his bike. The bike tore across the
ground in response to his thoughts and leapt from the hilltop.  He landed
hard, the jolt ending his scream and bringing his thoughts back the corp for
whom he killed so thoughtlessly. A gun fired. A moment later he realized it
was his.  A moment after that he realized it felt good.
        "Goddam", Balaam "Fucking"  Balaam. Two rockets buried themselves
into the hillside which erupted into a cloud of earth, trees, and rocks.
"sonsaBICHES". The bike accelerated onto one wheel and to puncuate his shout
the nitro kicked and threw him into the air. Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba Baooom. He
emptied his rockets into the air in any direction. As each fired, it caused
his bike to spin and twist wildly. His reflexes strove to control the bike
while his mind tried desperately to let it crash into the ground. He was in
the air for eternity. firing blindly, the landscape around him disappearing
as blast after blast tore into. He prayed, spitting the tears from his mouth,
to whatever gods may listen, to let him die. He loved her. Let him crash. Let
him burn.
        He was trained to well. His reflexes took over and landed the bike,
tires spinning crazily as they struggled for traction. He closed his eyes and
gave himself over to the bike. He rode hard, long into the night. With a will
to die and a body that refused. Careening off rocks, leaping from ledges,
sprinting at impossible speeds down cliff faces. Finally, exhausted, he
stopped thinking.  The bike slowed down, came to a stop, and slowly, almost
gently leaned over onto its side. He slid onto the hillside and slept, one
leg still stradling the bike.

copyright Sean Jameson August 1992
Kidd is mine ( course rumor has it his name may change as I read the archives
and realize a similar name is being used already )
If you wanna use him, I'm pretty leniant about such things.

--
   _____________________                 strake@dartmouth.edu
  /  __/_ __  __     __  | "And finally, to these two who are about to wed,
 `--, /  /_/ /_/ /, /_   |  may he always have the last two words in any
 __/ /  / \ / / /\ /_    |  argument -- 'Yes dear'.  - Best Man's speech