The Wistful Voyage
My hands were deep in the grease of the main airlock’s hydraulic seal when the toast began, the sound of clinking glasses drifting down from the banquet hall above like a distant, irritating hum. I wiped my palms on a rag that had seen better decades, the fabric stiff with dried oil, and climbed the ladder to the maintenance deck. The smell of roasting mutton and spiced wine hit me before the...
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