Mike Macon

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Somewhere in the black void beyond, toward the Fomalhaut star that is twinkling brightly in the distance, there’s a Lanky seed ship coming for us, and all the plans we’re making right now feel a little bit like the battle strategies of cockroaches who see the boot coming down on them. Still, we gear up to throw our rocks and give them the finger because that’s what we do.
Lines of Departure (Frontlines, #2)
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