He sought vulnerability to take advantage of, enumerating all of his past successes in increasing revenue for Bast’s tavern. He knew he had what it took to make something happen. And he would. Dammitall. He could see no end to the city. Its buildings spiraled to giddy heights, blocking out the world, most of the sky, and natural light. Many of the edifices rose to match the stature of the docking facility, sprawling in curling shapes, like a bizarre forest of giant dancers frozen in mid leaps and twirls. He listened to unfamiliar languages, heard the squawk of traffic, and the shrill signals directing it. Doors slammed. People shouted and laughed. They pushed past him, rushing, kicking up the air that was dryer and more sour than Siegna’s. He didn’t taste as many nutrients in it. The coveralls were slow to compensate. His heart pumped harder, his blood flowed faster. His steps faltered. People swore at him, shouting, “Dumbass.” A couple of hard shoves sent him into traffic. Horns blared, treads churned toward him.
