The Golden Greenhouse
Act I Sigrid Nordli hauled the last crate of yeast across the linoleum, her boots scuffing the waxed floor. The Imperial Botanical Corps had stripped the station’s funds, leaving only the credit card float between gigs to keep the lights on. She set the crate down. It weighed forty pounds. The forge in the valley rang out, a dull thud that vibrated in her teeth before the smoke even curled over...
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