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August 13, 2007


Midnight train to Georgia, you know, like the song.

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Jim: To The Belt

The flashing sign declared the next passenger ship to Ceres City would not leave for six weeks. Jack knew they’d find him long before then.

“There’s another way into the asteroids,” murmured a tall man at Jack’s shoulder.

Jack’s reply was curt. “Tell me.”

“They’re pressing a gang of rock hounds at pad sixteen,” the stranger answered before striding briskly away.

As he strapped into the cargo hold of the work transport, Jack knew it had been too damned convenient. But he’d had little choice. And after some hard gees, he’d be on his way to Asteroid 359.

Asteroid Georgia.

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Ted: Peachtree Express

Used to be folks that took trains, at least the ones able to buy their way into the club car, had class and cash. Now it was just an endless stream of unimaginative traveling salesmen.

Her momma had taught her how to work a room, get the place heated up, make having her a prize to be bid upon in a genteel fashion. Now she was lucky if she could get twenty bucks for head and had to do things quick to make up in volume what she lost in price.

Arriving in Atlanta, she resolved to get throughly drunk.

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