The Pale Bridge
Chapter One Joséphine Vidrine’s hands were already deep in the wet clay of the orbital welder’s tether, the metal biting into her palms as she adjusted the angle of the grav-light against the rusted hull of the generation ship, the air in the interview room below smelling of ozone and the distinct, coppery tang of old blood that had settled into the linoleum of the pension office. She was...
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