Sliding to a stop, Lorenzo jumped off his motorcycle next to the elevator cage that led up the sheer cliff face of the only mesa in the area. Ever since the god forsaken colonists had tried to settle on this dead rock, they had used this as the perfect, natural platform to perform trades on. Lorrenzo just hoped he was correct, that this was where the ship would stop to call for a new crew.
As his left leg hit the ground, a sharp pain raced up his leg, and he cried out as he fell over into the dirt. Flipping onto his back, he pulled up the offending leg and saw that his left ankle was bleeding from within his boots. With time running out, he grabbed a hold of his short-sleeve shirt and pulled at the arm. The old, well used cloth ripped as he had hoped it would. Using the cloth, he bound his ankle up over his boot, hoping it would work temporarily.
Three skimmers stopped a way away, throwing a dust cloud Lorenzo’s way, forcing him to hide his face and spit out the remains that threatened to coat his lips and teeth. Boisterous laughter rolled across the area as the drunks got off their vehicles. Lorenzo did not allow them to distract him from trying to tenderly get up on his feet. From the sound of things, they had seen him, as there was some swift cursing before the thump of running feet.
Hobbling across the packed dirt towards the far side of a mesa, it was going to be a race to see who would make it to the elevator first. When metal screeched, Lorenzo looked just in time to watch the three drunks slam the flimsy metal door across the open elevator. Refusing to give up, Lorenzo hobbled forward through the dirt despite the pain. When he was just a few feet away from the elevator car, the biggest of the drunks punched the button, smiling at Lorenzo as they rose.
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Drawing in a deep breath, Lorenzo was about to yell and curse like his papa had all those times, but he stopped himself. He refused to be like his mama or papa. After all the work he had put into his life to be something better, he refused to fall to their mistakes. Mind whirling with everything he knew about the area; he knew there was some way he could still make the meeting if only he could remember what it was. Despite the pain, he walked as his mind wandered, so it could piece together all he knew about this place.
When Lorenzo was about ready to give up, he looked up at the mesa that stood before him and saw the old shipping line. It was crazy; he told himself even as he hobbled towards it. No one had used it for a hundred years, but if he did not find a way off this rock, he was dead either way. Leaning heavily against the rock, Lorenzo took long moments to unhook a loading cable from the main line. Winding the wire securely around his forearm despite how crazy it was, he reached back and pulled out his trusty vibro knife.
Pulling down with his wrapped arm, Lorenzo found the bite into his arm not terrible for the moment. He knew he would have to see how bad it would be once he was being held aloft by that arm. While there was no way to test it, he did the only thing he knew to do, and that was to cut the main line.
Back during the ancient colony days, they had secured a line that ran up to the mesas top with weights. It had been well used and worked hard. With it still holding the weight at the top of the mesa after all this time was a marvel of engineering, technique, and proper materials. That was before Lorenzo cut through the main line, holding the weight at the top with his vibro knife. One moment the line was taut with tension, and the next there was a loud snap and a poll of dust that remained where Lorenzo once stood.