There’s no better place to make friends than at tea and dim sum, and the Monkey King needs friends to overthrow utopia. Tiāntáng Station—named for Heaven—orbits the polluted Earth, a citadel of alloy and glass, buttressed by plasma thrusters. The highest station levels are the furthest from the smog and neglected masses who haven’t been lucky enough to immigrate up. That’s the problem: immigrants know they’re lucky. Scary to bite the hand that feeds, even when it’s only flicking out crumbs. But the Monkey King isn’t scared. She’ll take the hand that feeds off at the wrist.
The first “friend” she makes is Ratt. An aging gangster, also known as Head of Janitorial. His scalp is encircled with tattoos of mystic jaws; most of his left pinkie nail is missing. Starting fights would’ve cost him his job if he didn’t know the ins, outs, and gaseous rumbles of the station’s guts better than anyone else. Ratt’s ghoulish temper, which he takes out on his kids, originates from the physical and social agonies of bad teeth.
“Question. Why should I help you with this teahouse?” he asks. He stares at her too long, then grimaces and looks away. Her face makes people uncomfortable.
