Thrillrider

After I flip the pins' heat switches and feel the glacier start grinding down the coastline slope, I can't help but smile. Flattening myself against my steed's icy-cold, metallic surface, I mentally start plotting my route down to the collector. I keep my goggles' radar display off so I have as wide a field of vision as possible, which has saved my life more times than I can count. I have half my path constructed in my head before I hear the rapid blaring of a proximity alert in my ear. I sweep my gaze uphill and across the slope before a glint of light off of a skimmer draws my eyes to the horizon. I half-heartedly sigh, and call the collector, asking if they can deafen me so I can think straight and do my job. When I hear why they can't, I tighten my free hand's grip on its pin. Flicking on my radar for just a moment to get my bearings, I mutter, "No escort....why don't we have a damn escort?" before turning up the heat and easing my steed off my planned route. More bumps on the way down means less fuel to sell, which means less of a payout, but if I make it in time, it's still better than being robbed. They probably thought it wasn't worth the escort fee for a single harvest, but they've never had to guide a glacier down a slope as a team of one. I didn't hear the mortar slug approaching, so when it buried itself in the slope a few yards ahead of me, I instinctively tried to save the product, cranking my left-hand pin to max temperature. An uneven melt would bring the price down, but there would still be something to sell in the end. I flick on my radar again as I equalize the temperatures of the pins and accelerate. The collector is picking up speed; it's going to be a rough landing. I shout to it that I'm coming in hot and start to disengage the pins, way too soon, ten seconds or so away from the cliff edge. I'm still smiling as I hear two more slugs smash into the slope behind me. But, as the collector comes into view, I realize my mistake. As the glacier clears the cliff, it slips off the pins like sweat off a stray hair, and I tumble into the receiving bay, alone. Before I fully realize what's happened, the alarms in my earpiece and on the collector stop blaring, to be replaced by a thin voice only I can hear. "I would commend your efforts, Jockey Nels, if you had not just dropped our product into the hands of common thieves."