The Golden Circuit
Who pays for the air we breathe? Liwayway Tan wrote the question in the margin of his ration card, the graphite scratching against the coarse paper. He was thirty-four years old, and his hands, once steady enough to calibrate the pressure valves of the generation ship’s lower decks, now trembled with a fine, persistent vibration that he could not name. The dormitory was sealed, a box of...
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