PREVIEW
... spel, or: Are You My Father?
There it was—descending from the heavens like a modest god’s rental car.
The first proper spaceship I’d seen in this galaxy—no tentacles, no biogrowths, no pulsating nerve-tissue hull. Just cold, hard, artificial steel. The thing looked like a white triangle mated with a torpedo, roughly twenty-five meters long, with two red-glowing thrusters beneath its belly for delicate landings, and five more strapped across the rear like an afterburner bouquet. < ...
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