The Distant Machine
"Three more days, Senga. Then the berth is yours." The voice belonged to Tam, the airlock maintenance chief, though he did not look up from the gauge he was calibrating. The needle jerked, settled, and pointed to a pressure that was too high for comfort but low enough to ignore. Senga MacIntyre stood in the corridor, her left hand resting on the cold metal of the bulkhead. The pain was not in...
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