Down in the dirty hold of an ancient, no name cargo ship Carmen was patching overalls.
Five days into the voyage an engineer had discovered her, and when the captain's solicitations got him nowhere they put her to work down here, with the rust and the rats.
At least they hadn't spaced her. She was alive, unlike most of her kind. She had witnessed the heaped bodies as she fled, enough fuel for a lifetime's nightmares.
She gazed through the porthole at cold vacuum and distant stars. Behind her, the needles danced on, stitching to the tune of her mind.
Author bio: John Xero is far too distractable. One day he will write a novel... one day...
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