Running.
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Always running.
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It's hard to
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remember how things
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used to be before
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he started running.
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Stop for breath. A forest. Looks alien. Anything to eat here? No. Shame. Have to stop again later. Left boot sparking again. Fixable? Yes – everything's fixable. Five minute job, this one. His hands go to the tool pouch, not even looking. Eyes scanning the horizon. Anything coming? No. Clear for – what was that? Run!
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Stop again. Space platform. People around, but he's in an alley, not drawing attention. Set to work. Pump disassembled – need to get this bit done fast, can't run without it. Valve gone. Pull out the diaphragm, get the replacement in quick, keep the old one – there's at least six places the intact portion of the rubber can be used. Put the bolts back on (best replace that nut, the groove's pretty worn) and seal it all up, then run power. Still safe? Good. Take a quick inventory. Need more #5 screws and a new left-handed grimble. He'll keep his eyes open, but this place doesn't look good for it. Run.
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Run.
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Run.
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And stop suddenly as someone reaches out to grab his shoulder, someone wearing boots like his, a uniform like his once was, a slight smile, a familiar face.
"Hello, Beaumains," says Lynette, touching the hands in question as Gareth stares at her, unbelieving. "It's time to stop running."
Disclaimer: The PPC is the creation of Jay and Acacia. The TCDA is the brainchild of Pieguy. All characters herein are mine, one way or another.