The Golden Song
Concepcion Almodovar’s fingers slipped on the wet iron of the gantry, the cold metal biting into her palms as she scrambled toward the loose gear. Below, the foreman’s shout was a dull thump, muffled by the heavy, humid air of the maintenance airlock. She did not look down. She knew the layout of the ship’s lower decks better than she knew the faces of her neighbors in the olive belt sectors,...
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