Transcription: Aftermeths By Lois McMaster Bajal The shattered ship hung in space, a black bulk in the darkness. It still turned, imperceptibly slowly, one edge eclipsed, and swallowed the bright point of the star. The lights of the salvage crew worked over the skeleton. Ants, ripping up a dead moth, Farrell thought, Scavengers. He sighed dismay into his forward observation screen, and pictured the ship as it had been, scant weeks, before. The wreckage untwisted in his mind. A cruiser, alive with patterns of gaudy lights that always made him think of a party scene across night waters, responsive as a mirror ...
