The Golden Suspect
Dimitris Theodorou was thirty-two years old, and he owed the Ministry of Atmospheric Stability four months’ back rent on his oxygen subscription. The debt sat in my ledger, a column of red ink that bled slightly when the humidity in the relay shed rose, a physical fact of my life that no one else seemed to notice until the collection letter arrived. I was a welder on the orbital dock, a man who...
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