Enwye, the City of Pleasure.
Enwye, the City of Trade.
But mostly Enwye, the City of Extremists.
“Aloha there. Bienvenue to Enwye,” said an entryway guard in Globalcommon.
“Aloha,” he replied quietly. His PRT glided through the huge X-ray machine and he rolled the window up after the brief conversation.
He wasn’t here for pleasure. He was here for something far more important, something that would affect everyone worldwide if he didn’t do it. He smoothed his starched shirt and adjusted his stiff collars. The PRT continued down the rail until it came to his destined stop.
“Brooklyn Bridge,” said the calming, computerized voice.
He stopped and got out, his PRT pulling over until it was nearly in the water.
All was going according to plan.