The Distant Summer
Cormac Rafferty had served the imperial courier station for thirty years, and his right hand shook only when it touched cold iron. This was a fact known to no one, not even the usher who kept the exits mapped in his head. The frost had killed the late beans three weeks prior, a physical fact that left the air sharp and the ground hard as bone. Cormac stood before the turbine casing, a new piece...
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