When the Battle’s Lost and Won | By Casey Darmody
“The shoggoths are doing well,” Damos says, with a tint of weariness appropriate for the end of a shift. “One has an infection.” It’s freezing, as always. Surrounding him are clean snowy wastes punctuated only by the subtle curves of snow-dunes, the lakes of liquid crystal he’s here to mine, and of course the nearby …
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