The Distant Cartograph
Pedro Estrada, thirty-four years old and owing six months on his berth mortgage, sat in the windowless office of the orbital dock, his shoulder blades aching from the cold metal of the chair. He was redrawing the jagged line of the river on the topographic map, his stylus moving with a precision that felt like a prayer against the dust that coated every surface of the station. The closure...
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