He who runs away, lives to write his autobiography some other day...
      Rand


DISCLAIMER: Robotech is owned by Harmony Gold USA, Inc. No copyright
infringement is intended. The fic is based on the McKinney novels, bless
'em.

  _____________________________________

     NOTES ON THE RUN

     a Robotech shortfic

     by Latin_D (latin_d@wamcoputers.com.ar)
  _____________________________________


"You can tell a person by the company he keeps". He couldn't remember
when or where he'd heard that before, but it had stuck, as had so many
other sayings, data and unimportant trivia.

      However, if you're always alone, then what?

      Rand moved closer to his crackling fire. Nights in the wastelands
were cold and inhospitable, unfit for all but the hardiest animals and
plants. And humans. Humans were used to surviving; they always had a
knack for keeping themselves afloat. And Rand excelled at it.

      Nevertheless, he was much grateful for the comfort provided by his
lone tattered woolen blanket, and the warmth of the cheery fire that
bathed his face and brought some feeling back to his numb fingers. He
took a moment to look around. As far as the eye could see in the starlit
landscape, there was only rock and dust and craters. Stark hills could
be barely made out, silhouetted against the dark purple-blue of the
incoming sun. Rand noted the similarities to some photos of the moon
he'd seen in an old pre-cataclysm magazine -- give or take a few ravaged
Zentraedi spaceship skeletons, thrust deep into the ground and standing
tall, testaments to their past might.

      No signs of other people, also, which suited him just fine. As
with every other true forager, he was a lone wolf, and fully intended to
keep that up. The way he saw it, companions only meant unwanted
complications and liabilities.

      He was a short, wiry young man, with soft brown eyes, a mop of
unruly red hair, and a mouth that appeared to constantly have a grin
tugging at its lips. The coffee-colored shirt and loose pants he wore
were just as weatherworn as everything he owned, but he was used to
making do with few things. As he liked to say, the only things a man
needed to survive in the wilderness were his tools, a good set of
wheels, and the clothes he was wearing.

      Not that a little luxury would hurt, but what the hey...

      Besides him, kept upright thanks to its handy kickstand, was his
most prized --or the only one worth a cent, rather-- possession: his
trusty old bike. It was a twenty-year-old thing given to him by his pop
for his thirteenth birthday, and he couldn't remember spending a day
apart from it since then.

      Born after the Rain of Death of annihilation bolts, liquid fire,
and unending destruction that slew over ninety-nine per cent of the
Earth's population, Rand was there when the Robotech Masters came to
reclaim what had never been theirs to begin with. He vaguely remembered
his father hurriedly packing their belongings and rushing southwards
into the night after Supreme Commander Leonard issued the declaration of
war.

      A random skirmish between local political parties in the town they
were staying in --a common occurrence in those days between the
definitive fall of the United Earth Goverment and the Arrival of the
Invid-- took his father, leaving him alone and rootless in an unfriendly
world that seemed bent on returning to barbarism.

      Gathering some small logs he'd left nearby, he absent-mindedly
threw them onto the fire. A multitude of sparks arose in answer, taking
to the air like so many short-lived fireflies, but he paid them no heed,
lost in thought.

      No use crying over spilt 'culture, that was his motto. The first
years by himself had been hard. It took a while to get used to the leery
looks he received every time he reached a new town looking for shelter
or a hot meal. In the wake of the Arrival, social and political
structures quickly decayed in the few now-nearly-isolated cities and
villages that survived the initial attack. Caste systems were adopted in
some places, tribes came into being in other, and in a few areas, even
technology started to be deified as the skills and know-how needed to
use it was lost. Slaves were sold or simply given to the Invid in return
for a deceptive freedom, to work on the fields harvesting the Flower of
Life for the rest of their brief, miserable existences. Republics fell,
and dictatorships were born. And among them, only those allied with the
enemy prospered.

      Outsiders were thus regarded as troublemakers, instigators -- or,
in even the best cases, as just another mouth to feed. Soon, he was only
too happy to stay out in the wilderness most of the time, weeks or
months at a time, until he only came to the cities seeking fuel pellets
for his motorbike (which insisted on depleting them faster than you can
say "crap this thing used up all the fuel again argh dammit dammit
dammit", unfortunately), a new book to read, or tools when the ones he
owned finally gave out and marched onto greener pastures. It certainly
didn't make for an easy living, but it was better than most and he was
free to come and go as he pleased. And hey, it's better the Khyron you
know than the Invid you don't.

      That was another of his mottoes. He had plenty of those.

      One of the first things he remembered doing was reworking his
name; "Randolf O'Keefe" just wouldn't work for his new life. So he chose
his father's favorite nickname, instead, which held more meaning in his
mind. Besides, Rand sort of rolled off of your tongue much better in his
humble, unbiased opinion.

      Still, not everything had been sorrow; he had made some friends,
learnt some things, and seen a lot. Plus, he was an optimist at heart
--an endangered species these days-- and refused to give into
depression. Instead of drowning in endless misery and moping around,
like so many old-timers who remembered times when everything was better
and the sun shone brighter and the birds sang louder, or holing up in a
dank room in some out-of-the-way village, fearing his own shadow and
waiting for The End, he preferred to live to the fullest and at least
_try_ to be happy in the meantime. Eat, drink, and be merry, for
tomorrow an Invid steps on you, as he often said...

      Boy, I'm just _exuding_ the honest-to-goodness country boy-wisdom
tonight, eh? he thought sardonically, shaking his head. Chill must've
gotten to me under all that hair.

      The young man had unthinkingly leaned back against a large rock as
he recalled his past, eyes fixed on the night sky but not really seeing
anything. To his surprise, dozens of stars suddenly started moving,
snapping him out of his musings. They ever-so-slowly drifted downwards,
marking their paths in fire. Shooting stars? he wondered. No, he
answered himself after a minute. The fall was too controlled, too...
unnatural. Very un-shooting star-ish, so to speak. Alphas, perhaps, if
there were any left -- and men crazy enough to pilot them. Or maybe
something bigger, spaceships of some kind, unlikely as that might be. At
any rate, it was worth checking.

      Hmmm... One, two days top, he gueesstimated. Not too far away, and
he had enough fuel for the trip.

      Dawn was breaking, the wind sluggishly warming from freezing to
merely cool, and the fire was quickly dying as it ran out of wood to
consume. I'd better get going, Rand thought, making up his mind. The
early forager gets the spoils, right? He hastily packed his meager
possessions, shouldered his pack and fastened his goggles. A small hop
later, he was on his bike, his hand already at the key, starting the
engine. He twisted the throttle then, and the machine purred its
agreement as it sped forward. Rand accelerated, performing a wheelie for
effect, until he was going as fast as ever before.

      After all, you never know what you will find on the road, if you
ride long enough. As far as sayings went, that one wasn't half bad, he
decided, smiling as the wind whipped his face.


      The End.


NOTES:  This was just a little something to get over my shortage of
writing, a study of one of my favorite characters; hope you were able to
enjoy it, even if only just a bit. Sorry, m'dear McKinneys, for
borrowing your title; it seemed to fit. C&C are more than welcome, be it
public or private. Drop me a line -- especially you, Rand fans!

...I know there must be some, somewhere.

Oh, and special thanks go to Bjorn Christianson (such a wonderful guy,
and a great author -- read his fics, you!) and Larry F (go to his
wonderful archive, where you'll be able to find other fics by me, and
much better authors such as DB and Brian -->
http://rakhal.com/florestica/) for prereading, and Morgan Hudson, for
finding Rand's real name. (Where are you, Morgan?!) Farewell!

Latin_D




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