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Back from vacation, here's the latest chapter.






August Ninth, Richmond, baby!





    4
	
  Three o'clock in the morning and it was damn near 
freezing. My jacket had asbestos insulation in the liner, but that 
protected better against high heat than it did against cold. In the 
dry air around me I scented a trail of smoke from spot fires a block 
away. The lack of other sensations made it easy, but they didn't 
help the rapid beating of my heart. 

  Chris' hands had not moved to his guns, but we both knew 
who would draw first. I kept looking calm, and he watched me idly 
from a few feet away. 

  A small explosion sounded in the distance, more than ten 
blocks away. I didn't flinch. Chris turned his head without taking 
his eyes off me.

  "Hey John. I'm sorry, you were right. It couldn't have been 
one of ours who faltered."

  "Then who?" he whispered back.

  "Who knows. Some weak link in the chain. Maybe a 
creaking bed spring sat on too hard. The return of a long extinct 
fetish. It would be hard to say what motivates that man. But I bet 
he knows exactly where the weak link lies. And I bet he's got a big 
black cross tattoo right under it."

  "I never tattooed anything. I thought that was the problem," 
I said.

  "You have a problem with the whole system."

  "I guess that's the big joke then isn't it," I said, and I stared 
him down in the darkness.

  "Considering I'm the one camping out here with my guns," 
he finished slowly. "I know. It sort of gives the whole thing a bad 
name, doesn't it. That's one of those mysteries of life. Why you 
aren't affected by the same cacophony of the music of duty and 
hatred I constantly endure confuses me more than you. But it's 
empirical fact. You and I can't get away from that.

  "John. Come here and hold this man's gun for him for a 
minute. We have a delicate schedule." 

  The other man wasn't moving though. He was laying on his 
stomach looking through a laser scope. Chris looked over at him, 
blinked, and yelled, "Cohen! Get your ass over here!"

  "Chris?"

  "What?"

  "I see a Tank Division armored battalion winding through 
traffic a block away to the north and they know where they're 
looking." He turned. "Again."

  Chris' mouth shut. He peered into the distance, and I did 
the same. Sure enough, five tanks (three smaller ones, and two 
heavy's) were turning up our street five hundred yards away. We 
all hit the ground and went silent. I watched.

  The lead tank was an S-class single gun eight-wheeler of 
the type that were seen occasionally on the streets. They were 
housed in under the Plaza for quick access to the inner city districts 
and were used for the Special Forces tougher jobs. I hadn't seen 
one in a long time. This one passed by several alleys and was 
headed straight for the observatory. Flanking it, but riding further 
back were the two W-class Shock Troop Juggernauts. They each 
had twin 112 mm cannons on an enormous swivel top. Extra 
barrels for countless other weapons protruded at random angles 
from the vehicle's front and sides. Bringing up the rear were two 
more S-class tanks. I heard Chris swear.

  "Well, son of a bitch. They did find us again."

  "This wasn't my idea," I said.

  "And I was hoping the last one had been a vaccine shot." 

  He looked over at Cohen and whispered loudly. "Hey! The MK-
IV! No, the other one. The big one. Pass it over here."

  Cohen gave the thumbs up, and slid the four foot metal tube 
to him. I quietly began to crawl away from him and around the 
sloping roof. Chris quickly loaded three rockets and got ready to 
aim. I put my fingers over my ears and squinted my eyes. He 
looked through the laser scope, smiled and spasmodically pulled 
the trigger three times in succession.

  With an earsplitting shriek, rockets spewed forth and a 
second later exploded six stories below. One hit the lead tank and 
set it on fire instantly. The other two hit the left Juggernaut but 
failed to crack its armored breastplate. Simultaneously the other 
heavy tank let loose with both barrels, though each shot was too 
low and missed our building entirely. Still, I clung to the rusting 
metal roof with both hands and feet. Chris balled his fists and 
stood up.

  "Return fire, you idiots! Now!" He leaned over the edge as 
he yelled, and I heard the gang boys acknowledge him with shouts 
from below. All four remaining tanks stopped advancing, and filed 
into a side street for cover. This was probably going to be my only 
chance.

  I put my hand in my jacket, and gripped the large gun 
inside. With a look over my shoulder and the magazine in my other 
hand and I jumped to my feet. At the same second Chris turned 
around and saw me aim at him. He froze.

  "I'm leaving right now, Chris. You can thank me later for 
not killing you, even though I had come here planning on it. If you 
really think you're doing the right thing for the city and all its 
people, then I can understand having to deal with the enemy. But it 
ends here. No more favors. If you get in my way again, you won't 
live to regret it."

  Chris' jaw dropped. "Get in your way?! You don't have a 
way! Aside from Rufius, all your enemies are dead! And he isn't 
even interested in you anymore!"

  "He has Alethea."

  "So what?! I'm telling you man, that's where she belongs. 
She's no good for you. I hadn't wanted to break the news to you a 
week ago, but now it seems you need it. She's evil with a capital E. 
All that 'perfect little girl' garbage is a front. Just ask her ex-friends 
from high school."

  "You mean a fairly tall girl named Karen?"

  He raised an eyebrow at me. "How did you know?"

  "Just ran into her down at Castro's. She didn't say a single 
bad thing to me about Alethea."
 
  "Bring it up sometime. I bet she doesn't know about you 
two fucking either. Karen hates the bitch now, ever since Alethea 
dropped out to work for the family business. I've known them both 
for a while, and believe me, Karen is the better choice. Better deal, 
and she's guaranteed not to try to kill you in your sleep."

  I couldn't think of anything to say. Alethea would never 
intentionally hurt anyone. It made her cry when we watched sad 
movies on the screen. There was no way what he said was true. 
The way he said it.

  "Chris, you're nuts. No one is that good of an actor. I have 
been a lot closer to her than you have, and I know everything. 
She's just an young girl lost in all of this shit you and I have gotten 
ourselves into. I'm going to get her back if I have to kill Rufius 
alone. And I don't want to hear what you think. Maybe you piss 
yourself at the sound of his footsteps but I don't."

  He could have laughed out loud at me but instead Chris's 
eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth. He growled at almost 
whisper level, "I'm not afraid of anyone, fuck-pot. I command the 
largest group of trained mercenaries ever to attempt a coup. Das 
Uberdog is more than enough to take on all government 
opposition. And even still I don't really need anyone. I'm a one 
man army. Unstoppable. The city has bred me for this job for 
decades and you ought to know that." He walked toward me, 
ignoring the gun in my hand. "I have the greatest military mind 
this city has ever produced, and the opportunity of a lifetime to use 
it. I won't let you threaten that!"

  I prepared to pull the trigger at him as he reached for me, 
but we were both thrown from our feet as the first tank shell hit the 
observatory not fifteen feet below us. Heat washing across my 
arms and face, I landed with my feet to the sky on my back with a 
crunch and continued to slide off the dome. Turning before I fell 
over, I got a hand on the old metal ladder that had served as a fire 
escape. My legs went over the edge, but I managed to hold on with 
one arm as the wave of fire and smoke scorched the air above me.

  Glancing to my left, I could see the juggernauts two blocks 
away poking their cannons out from behind a parked truck, and 
they were aiming higher. I got both hands on the ladder's side 
beams, put my feet around them below me, and loosened my grip. 
I began to slide down rapidly toward the ground.

  Both tanks fired again, and this time they must have hit 
something vital inside, because the explosion took off the top two 
stories of the building. My hands already aching from the friction, 
I was not able to hold on and suddenly fell completely off. Floating 
in space for maybe two seconds, I landed on my back in soggy wet 
grass a dozen feet below. The wind was knocked out of my lungs, 
and I lay there gasping as fiery debris rained down a few yards 
away from me.

  Waiting a second, I raised my head and looked around. 
Through a line of short trees in the surrounding parking lot, I could 
see Stitch and the other three gang boys shooting back at the tanks 
with AP rounds and bits of bright red lightning. Overhead, the 
observatory burned, and I saw no signs of movement. I took 
another few deep breaths before getting to my feet and checking 
my back. Nothing was broken, but of course it all hurt like hell.

  I limped away from the road, and got out of the tank 
battalion's line of sight. Behind the building was all the flaming 
metal and concrete that had fallen down in the explosion. Looking 
for my parked cyc, I stepped around it keeping my shirt up over 
my mouth to filter smoke. There was not much more than chunks 
of structural material here, and I did not see what I wanted. But 
coming around a large pile and into more light, I stopped.

  The fire and ash had not burned his clothes or hair, and 
Chris knelt on the ground out of concern rather than injury. In front 
of him, John Cohen lay unmoving next to half of a huge 
observatory-sized telescope. He was whispering softly, and I 
franticly checked my holsters for guns. I had nothing. Chris looked 
up.

  "I think he's going to make it. John's a strong man."

  "I'm leaving," I said.

  "No you're not."

  "You can't fight tanks, Chris," I said, and took a step back.

  Chris stood up and advanced on me. His hands raised in 
front of his face, and he assumed a fighting stance used by the 
police in unarmed combat. I had little or no chance against him 
right now, as his years of training had given him a body like solid 
rock. But even still I shifted my weight to my back foot, and threw 
my right up at his head.

  With a jerk of his arm he blocked the kick and stepped 
forward, punching me in the jaw. I ducked his next strike and tried 
to slug him in the gut, but he caught my sleeve with his left hand, 
spun around, and threw me in a perfect shoulder throw. I put out 
my hands and managed to roll out of it, but the outcome of the 
fight was now clear in both our minds. I turned to run.

  A single headlight shined on me from out in the opposite 
street and was speeding closer. The cyc cut right at the last 
moment and sped by. As I turned my head to watch it go, I saw the 
rider jump off without braking and fly spinning into Chris' body, 
taking him down. I ran back after them.

  "Who's laughing now, huh smartass?"

  "Zig! It's about fucking time you got here!" I shouted.

  Cracking his knuckles, an animated Zig picked himself up 
off the unmoving form of Chris and brushed his leather jacket off. 
"Wouldn't miss this for the world. So are we still gonna kill him? 
Was he working for the man?"

  "He told me he wasn't. Selling us out was just another 
move to cover his ass and save this waning revolution. Said he 
used to act as a liaison to Rufius for the old woman, but was just 
using them all to get money and men for his coup. I don't believe it 
was exactly like that, but I can tell he is not under Rufius' 
influence. He was also saying shit about Alethea."

  "What kind of shit?"

  "That she was like, a really depraved follower and has been 
working for Rufius the whole time."

  "That's bullshit. I'm sure you didn't believe that."

  "I don't. But he did have a few good points. Apparently 
he's talked to her today. I wanted to call him on that one too, but he 
already knew that White was dead, and that it was you and me who 
dun it."

  "Still," Zig said. "He could have heard that from any of his 
connections. Or figured it out himself."

  "Maybe so."

  "So does this mean we leave him alone? What's the deal?"

  "Take a look around, and then you tell me."

  Zig scratched his goatee and watched as one of the 
Juggernauts drove over a parked car, flattening it a hundred yards 
away. "That bad, huh?"

  "It's worse. Chris says if I go after Alethea and get Rufius 
all pissed off, he's gonna kill me. He thinks Rufius will blame him 
for sending me."

  From near his feet, Chris let out a groan and tried to sit up. 
I pushed him back down with my boot and kicked him in the 
temple. 

  "Go back to sleep," I said. Then to Zig, "Come on, get your 
cyc. We have to get the fuck out of here before those tanks get past 
the next block." 

  Zig ran over and picked up his ride from where it had fallen 
after he jumped. I scanned the parking lot for mine, and finally saw 
it half under a bush. The rest of the cyc's there had been knocked 
over as well but mine seemed to have taken no real damage. I 
walked over and pulled it out with both hands. As I dusted off the 
seat and sat down, Zig pulled up along side me and passed me a 
small revolver.

  "It's all I could find. And you only have five shots."

  "Where'd you get the Ninja?" I asked.

  "Stole it off a rack outside a classy restaurant uptown. I 
picked the best one they had."

  "Of course. Grand theft auto in a public place after curfew. 
Should I even ask?"

  "I was thinking you just might need help with the god head 
over there." He pointed back toward Chris. But the spot where he 
had been laying was empty.

  "Shit!!" I yelled. "Five fucking seconds! Where is he?!"

  Zig pulled out his own gun, the Glock he had stolen from 
the sidecar cops. "I don't know!" We looked around frantically 
again, into the shadows caused by the crumbling building's flames. 
Parked cars and patches of burning grass but no signs of human 
movement. "Well then we'd better split up. We each ride off in 
different directions and cut any losses."

  "There had better not be any losses," I said.

  "Don't worry. He who fights and runs away, right?"

  "I've never believed that. But you have the right idea. Meet 
up with me again outside Castro's in half an hour. What do you 
say?"

  "Sounds solid. You got enough juice left in that thing?"
 
  I checked the electrometer. It had a quarter charge left. If it 
didn't take too long to get across town I would be just fine. "Yeah, 
I'm cool," I said. "See you later, and don't get caught."

  "Same to you." He gunned his engine and peeled away.

  I put the gun he had given me in my pants, and started my 
engine. Turning the cyc around, I headed out the back entrance 
while accelerating as quickly as I could. Behind me, the advancing 
tanks let loose another round of cannon fire, and there were more 
explosions in the parking lot. I kept my head ducked, and tore 
down the empty street.

  I hadn't realized how cold it was until the wind whipped 
across my neck. It had completely stopped raining, and even the 
streets were beginning to dry. Another five hours and the curfew 
would be lifted, filling these streets with commuters oblivious to 
danger from gang members and Shock Troops around them. I 
looked for streets that didn't strike me as places there would be 
audits. Taking wide detours around the last few checkpoints, I 
found myself on the turnpike heading south. The farther away from 
the Plaza I got, the fewer cops there would be, so I probably didn't 
have to worry about any more tonight. I kept it around 150, and 
made good time.

  The problem with everything Chris had said was that it was 
starting to ring a little true in my head. Just as Zig had believed 
Wells when the man had told him I was messed up, I wanted to 
trust Chris' knowledge even though I couldn't bring myself to 
admit it. Alethea was a little enigmatic, and I had to admit I knew 
next to nothing about her past. Only that she had not liked school, 
and that at some point she had run away from home before running 
into Zig. Her parents were certainly the last people I'd trust, even if 
I hadn't already halved their number. But as I said before, a case 
could be made against her.

  The fact remained that there was no way anyone could have 
faked the things she had said to me while we had been together. 
She was too nice, to pure ever to be a bitter liar underneath. I had 
held her in my arms five nights ago, and felt horrible inside just 
hearing her cry. That's the way we were. There was no way she 
could have looked at me like she did and not meant any of it. I felt 
sure of that.

  Either way, my mind persistently returned to the fact that I 
had to get to Alethea soon. Before Rufius was able to finish 
whatever plans he was up to that scared Chris so much. I needed to 
know how I was tied into this whole mess from the beginning with 
White and the Yuma machine. Even now, after finally 
remembering all my past lives and realizing I never was and never 
had been Screw the nineteen year old Gold Cup driver, Rufius 
remained the unknown variable. It was hard to believe that he was 
even still alive, after he and I had known each other so many years 
ago. But the kidnapping, the murder, it all stank of him. We went 
way back, the white haired monster and me.

  Taking the exit onto West Main Street, I remembered 
almost a week before when Weirham had crashed on a similar cold 
and lonely night. If I could even spot one civilian car and know I 
wasn't the only one out here at four in the morning, I would have 
felt much better. 

  The odd thing, of course, was that I had the sinking feeling 
I was not alone. The glare of a far-off set of headlights had flashed 
in my rearview mirror a few times, though I had not been able to 
get a good look at the vehicle. If it was really following me at all, 
then the driver was going in and out of side streets to keep his 
cover. I watched intently as I drove, trying to see if it had only 
been my imagination. It was possible.

  A yellow light suddenly blinked back on in my mirror, and 
I saw the twinkle clearly this time. I could not see any more of the 
car as it was still pretty far away. But it was gaining on me fast. I 
glanced over my shoulder to see if it had police lights on the roof, 
but it was too damn dark. I got her up to 160 and had to keep my 
eyes forward for a while as the road turned right in a broad arc. I 
looked again in my mirrors, and did not see the lights. I relaxed a 
little.

  Then I heard the rumble of a racing engine close behind 
and knew my mistake. It wasn't a car following me, it was a 
motorcycle. And it was not far away, it had just looked that way 
because its narrow headlights were close together. I hit the gas 
again as I passed another side street, when he was suddenly upon 
me. 

  I swerved as the larger cyc came right at me, and had to 
pull into the opposite lane. It was a big V-6 Hayabusa, and the 
rider was a 6' 6" blond bastard who apparently was more tenacious 
then he even let on to be. I whined a little in panic as I tried to coax 
more speed from my four electric cylinders. They whined right 
back.

  It was not time for equivocation. I pulled out the service 
revolver from my belt, twisted around in the seat, and fired at 
Chris' bike. He zigzagged around and I wasted three shots on the 
asphalt before one tagged him in the arm. The fifth chamber was 
empty, and the sixth shot was way off. I let go of the gun and put 
my hands back on the rubber grips.

  Chris stopped swerving and laid on the gas. Going down 
the middle of West Main at close to a buck seventy, he got right 
behind me and swung at my back. I grunted, tapped the breaks, and 
let him fly right past. He wore no helmet, and his face was a grim 
frown as I out-maneuvered him. Slowing down even more, I turned 
hard left and tore down another wide street. 

   Three blocks later, Chris appeared behind me again. I could 
probably lose him in the high rise districts of the south side 
projects, but we were too far east right now, and the Turbine itself 
was looming ahead. Ten or eleven blocks away I was going to 
have to make a choice. Going right meant following the Ring 
around the Turbine's Inner Wall until I ran out of space. Going left 
would give me more open roads to work with, but that would also 
be where Chris' larger, superior engine would overrun me. I 
needed an enclosed space that would let me work my magic. I 
hoped the Ring's kiss-and-ride parking lot would serve.

  As the six-story Inner Wall's dark basalt face began to take 
up all of my view, I slowed down to turn right. Behind me, Chris 
did the same and awaited my decision. Trying to fake him out, I 
jerked left first and then hard right. But he followed me without 
even a turn of his head, and we sped into an empty lot. I looked 
around for anything that would help me get away; at that point 
even a cop would do some good. Chris sped up again and tried to 
kick my rear wheel but missed. He was staying silent even though 
I knew what he was thinking.

  With no where to go, the road ran out and I jumped a curb 
onto the sidewalk. Slowing down to around twenty mph, I weaved 
in and out of newspaper machines and streetlights, trying to make 
him slow down. Suddenly we went down a few steps and were 
under a covered walkway and heading toward glass doors which 
lead inside the Ring's local terminal. I thought about slowing down 
but changed my mind. Swearing, I leaned forward and went 
straight though the door. Glass shards filled the air around me but 
did not pierce my kevlar jacket. Chris covered his face with his 
hands and followed me through. 

  No train cars sat idling on the tracks since it was so late and 
the place was closed and barred. I turned down a hallway that 
paralleled the Turbine for a little while leading down to the loading 
platforms. Here, empty cars waited in rows to be filled with 
passengers and sent barreling around the city attached to the 
Turbine. Speeding down the ramp, Chris pulled up next to me and 
yelled.

  "You can't run away from me!" Glass, blood, and maybe 
spit was streaked across his angry face, and I took a half-swing at 
him just to keep him back.

  "I can try," I said. He glared back. "Chris, why are we 
doing this? It wasn't that long ago that you were ready to die just 
to bring down Wells. What happened?"

  "Since then I've found the fine line between courage and 
stupidity. I gave you a choice. Give up on Rufius or kiss the 
pavement."

  "I'll give up on Rufius, I swear!"

  "I don't believe you, Rick."

  "Damn it!"

  And then we ran out of hallway. There was another huge 
safety-glass window that looked out onto the actual Turbine tracks 
outside to my left. Straight ahead was a concrete wall. Chris was 
reaching out for my neck, and I couldn't slow down. Panicking, I 
jammed on the brakes but my wheels skidded out instantly. I was 
heading for the glass and I could not turn anymore. I leaned my 
head below the small windshield and tensed.

  The front tire of my motorcycle hit the thick glass wall with 
a crash, and the next second I was outside. Chris followed me right 
behind, and both of our cyc's were airborn for close to twenty feet 
as we jumped the gap between the loading platform and the 
speeding inner wall. I extended my left foot all the way forward 
felt it absorb the impact as I hit a wall of rock traveling at around 
220 mph. But I wasn't killed.

  The side of the Turbine's inner wall that faces the city is 
sloped down at a fifteen- percent angle from the vertical. Since it 
travels so fast, the centrifugal force it exerts on anything touching 
it is stronger than gravity. Hitting the basalt at a tight angle and 
leaning to my right, I was pushed hard into my seat but able to stay 
upright. Chris did the same a few feet below me, and a second later 
we were still going. It was unbelievable.

  Riding almost perpendicular to the ground, my cyc 
propelled me along the inside of the wall at a ground-relative speed 
of well over three hundred miles an hour. Keeping absolutely 
straight, I found my tires ceasing to slip. Buildings not a hundred 
feet away whizzed past at right angles so fast I could not tell what 
color they were. The whole city looked like it was above me, and 
that I was speeding along in God's hamster wheel. The rush of air 
and adrenaline was elating as I did something no one else in the 
city had ever had the balls to do.

  The only problem was that Chris was still right behind. 

  After a minute or two we started to get the hang of staying upright 
and he came after me. He seemed to taste none of the fear that was 
choking me to death. Speeding up, my cyc naturally drifted up the 
wall toward the top. I turned the grips to the right, but cut down 
again as Chris followed me up. He could not risk any dangerous 
movements as a fall would hurtle him over the top and onto the 
racing tarmac on the other side. I slowly rode up and down the wall 
keeping clear of his fists and feet. All the while I looked for a way 
off that didn't involve a light at the end of a tunnel.

  Drowned out by the noise of the city-sized tornado, Chris 
pulled out the one gun he had not lost falling off the observatory; it 
was a two-shot ivory handled Derringer that he kept down the back 
of his green camouflage shorts. He smiled as he cocked the trigger 
and aimed it at the center of the scribbled halo my blowing black 
hair made in the wind. The speed and the blood leaking from his 
shoulder made it hard to hold his hand out in front of him, but 
Chris knew he was still a damn good shot.

  Hunching over reflexively I absorbed most of the first slug 
behind my lower neck though it failed to pierce my light kevlar 
jacket. The tiny .22 inch shells simply couldn't produce enough 
force to fight high winds, centrifugal force, and tough synthetic 
fibers. But my skull was definitely in-bounds. I had seen the 
Derringer before, fired it even. I ducked my head down as far as 
possible and drifted further upwards. Thank god my little problems 
with racing had ended back with the merusion.

  I risked a glance behind me to make sure the objects in my 
mirror weren't too much closer than they appeared. 

  Disappointment.

  I didn't even hear the second shot, but I knew when it 
barely grazed my side that I had hit him more vitally than I had 
assumed earlier. The fact that he had emptied his last gun was also 
significant because it meant he and I were back on equal terms. 
But the new wound hurt and blood ran down my pant-legs. I 
glanced back at him again and raised my eyebrows. Following me 
up the wall, Chris took his left limb away from the wound in his 
right and gave me the finger. After all if I escaped, he might not 
ever find me again.

  From the blurry images I got of the city hurtling by, I 
guessed we were all the way to the lower east side now. Huge 
factory complexes stretched off for miles punctuated by the 
occasional stadium track and monument. Two Ring stations had 
also passed us by though they wouldn't have done any good. For 
the life of me I couldn't think how I was going to get off of this 
ride, short of waiting for my cyc's charge to die. In my rearview, 
Chris was watching me intently, waiting to see what I would do. 

  His face showed that there was nothing else I could say that would 
change his mind. It brought a small feeling of sadness, because we 
both subconsciously knew the end of this scene already, and it was 
one of the only ones in the play we wouldn't be able to change. 

  Then, in the distance, I saw grandstands attached to the 
upper surface of the wall. They were for spectators who could 
afford to see the Gold Cup from a hundred yards above, strapped 
into cushioned seats. I had seen a few races from the stands, and 
the one thing I remembered was the incredible wind that whipped 
me around in my harness. As the structure got closer, my survival 
instincts began to concoct a maniacal plan. With another look 
back, I confirmed that Chris was right behind me, and following 
me up the wall. For some reason I waved to him one last time. If 
nothing else then to say that whichever one of us made it back 
alive, I never gave up even for a second in the face of impossible 
odds. We both respected that. I wondered if Zig had made it out 
okay.

  The stands loomed ahead and I rode as high on the wall as I 
dared to go. The widened tires were holding firmly. To my left by 
less than ten feet was the blackness of a cold night sky ninety 
degrees down from where it usually stared silently back. That great 
abyss; maybe this had been the object of my dreams. The ones 
where I feared falling into a void I associated with the final death. 

  It was horrifying and I looked away. I flexed my muscles and took 
short breaths. Tension coursed through my arteries from the fear, 
which I continued to convert straight into rapt attentiveness. And it 
wasn't the thrilling kind of fear you feel behind the dash in a six-
wheeler; it was that low, shitty kind of semiconscious panic that 
eats away at your stomach. Almost, almost... 

  God help me!! I screamed in my head.

  The individual metal girders came into view and I jammed 
on my brakes, careful to keep from skidding out again. The 
speedometer dropped from 120 to 20 in three seconds and I 
launched myself up and out of my seat. I reached out for a bar to 
hold onto, missed the first two and then grabbed a third. (I had had 
recent practice at this game.) My fingers and arms were strained in 
their sockets, but held. Then as my body caught up with me and 
spun me around again I slipped and collided chest first with a 
support pillar which finally stopped my wild ride. I hugged it with 
both hands and feet, and then stared behind me.

  Chris' faster cyc slammed into the back of mine, and they 
both flipped over. Falling off immediately, he smacked against the 
rock and rolled up off of it into the air with the two machines 
following close behind. He head was turned away, staring into the 
blackness I had tried to avoid. I saw all three hang in the night sky 
over the tarmac beyond and then arc slowly down. In the dark, they 
disappeared from view before I saw them descend, but it was better 
that way. I can't explain the loss of a friend who was my enemy.

  I was freezing, in lots of pain and dead tired but I dared not 
let go for a second. Near the other end of the stands was another 
terminal for train cars that carried fans up and down the Turbine 
every Sunday morning. If I was careful, I could make it over there 
hand over hand and down the wall with out too much trouble. 

  Jumping onto the roof of a Ring station would take a little more 
finesse. But the ordeal was unavoidable; the Turbine never 
stopped, not for anyone, ever.

  Able to take deep breaths again, I coughed and let the spit 
be sucked out of my mouth. If only Chris had not been so damn 
stubborn. We had so many bigger things to worry about than each 
other.




-------
-------





"crucify this ego"


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