nerve runner and moon maid
She was on the moon, living in tunnels of fused sand to avoid hard radiation. He had sold a kidney and bought a rare copy of Windows 95, beta. A sadistic techno-fetishist obsessed with antique technology, he made several trips a year to Japan, hunting old files in the .exe preserves. This required him to don a pressure suit and descend 12 fathoms to the dim crystal bubbles of forgotten data colonies. Thin silicon wafers in his black body suit connected him to 100 gigs of ram jacked through a port in his skull. He stopped talking to her. So she left him on a rocketship, hunting new worlds. He watched the splash of flames caress the earth. He turned to go. A nice girl, he reflected. A way to pass the time.