The Golden Compass
The airlock maintenance crew of the Skye Dome worked the third shift in a rhythm dictated by the hiss of the vacuum seal and the groan of the pressure valves, a sound that had become the lullaby of the third generation on Mars, where the printed streets were worn thin by boots that never quite fit the original mold. Lachlan Cameron, forty-two years old and chief of the airlock maintenance, sat...
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