The Golden Farce
Act I The downriver district of New Orleans hummed with the low, industrial thrum of the generation ship Aurora, its hull plates groaning against the magnetic moorings as the first light of the 2050s pierced the thin, alpine haze that hung over the marshlands. Here, the air tasted of ozone and wet silt, a permanent fixture of the colony where the charter remained unread and the debts were...
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