The Distant Metropolis

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2026-08-25 05:54:30 -

Manuel Teixeira, twelve years old and the son of a cork-barker, stood before the magisterial desk of Overseer Ferreira in the processing ring of the generation ship Alentejo, where the air tasted of recycled ozone and the linoleum floor was slick with the condensation of a hull that had not seen the sun in forty years. I wanted only to keep my berth, a mortgage paid in sweat and blood over the...

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