He paused to consider her suggestion, and to compare it to him own scheme, before nodding curtly, not that she could see. So he added a few words to clear the issue. "Aye, that'd work. Well, two pieces of scum. It's that or kill em."<br/><br/>They were most of the way up, and as they passed a battered, small yellow sign declaring that floor to be the 167th. "Next 'un" a shame he couldn't follow her further; he rather liked her ass.<br/><br/>"The name's Darrtith. No surname. What do I call you, sweetcheeks?" He clambered off the ladder and shook his vaguely sore arms to loosen them. "We'll sort out the cut later, eh? Let's just get something to cut first."<br/><br/>He grinned and slipped past her. At the end of the narrow maintenance tunnel was a much larger, spaceous passage. Overhead large tracks allowed monstrous automated cranes to move cargo containers the size of houses from warehouse to warehouse. There were a few workers around, but not so very many.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>