But Michaelson’s boldness had caused him to advance, both his creativity and his ruthlessness been rewarded. Spirits, he’d devoted his entire fragging existence to Saeder-Krupp. But he’d always hated being under the constant, unblinking reptilian gaze of the worm. He could hardly bear the terror that one day he, too, would suffer from a massive claw slicing across his midsection to spill his guts.