The undying night can play tricks on your mind, but the traffic in the skies is a clear indication of midday as my cab flies over the industrial zones that ring the outskirts of Amber City like cancerous growths. The cab drops me off in the dirty little neighborhood known simply as Port Town: a noncommercial spaceport district home to various methods of interplanetary travel, legitimate and otherwise. Not my favorite place to visit. On the bright side, it's stopped raining for the moment.
I pay the driver and step out into the street, right into a large puddle. The water goes over my ankle, down into my shoe. I swear and hop on one foot as the cab takes off.
People are everywhere; assorted breeds of rogues and miscreants. It's an old understanding that the Amber PD leave Port Town alone.
