The Deckhands
Mike O’Brien was three hours into a twelve-hour shift when the sky started acting weird. He was in Bay 7 of the Astrotrek launch facility in Brooklyn, elbow-deep in the coolant manifold of a second-stage engine, trying to figure out why the pressure gauge was reading twenty percent lower than spec. His hands were covered in grease that would not come off no matter how much he scrubbed. The shop...
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