The overstreets of Aroben all lead to the derelict air-mills. It’s been three quarters of a century since the mills saw even an hour’s work. The ‘form has taken, and so the air-factories are little more than historical curiosities. Forgotten. Collapsing. Rusting in the very atmosphere belched into existence from the null-grav ilmenite furnaces deep in their cores… But on occasion, boys go there. --The ones like Kaspyr, with girls from the back alleys and under streets, or with other boys at times, showing their vulnerable secrets in some species of transaction poised precariously between amatory barter, bullying, and play. The ones like Kaspyr speak of the mills, but only obliquely…and in codes that never find true definition. On one day, word of the mills can betoken a single thing, and little more than a day later, the meaning has changed. It is the nature of everything in Aroben, and it is why Kaspyr seeks escape. Later. --When his chest bears the weight of thicker hairs, and his pockets bulge with money enough to buy passage to one of the moons…or farther. Farther, yes… …Where only the biggest ships may go. He has heard of the Rimward Territories; the mysterious places plied by starships like bulbous langerfish…places with names like Nemaea and Berolin, Corsi and Lyria. --Places where you could walk (or shelter) in shadows cast by glamourous spires and domes of cleaner (leaner) pedigree than anything found in Aroben. Places where the shadows were immaculate and overhead girders didn’t drip with slime and castings from vermin best left unseen. But now, there are only the overstreets, all leading to Aroben’s rusting core. The moons above are little more than features in a cloying sky bright with everything but promise. *** I was just fiddling around here...looking through pictures I took of Dortmund, while also attempting to expand my stock of planets, moons, and asteroids. The result of that fiddling is what you see here...just a quickie, but I hope you enjoy it. As always thank you for viewing and commenting!