Free-Wrench

ary manifolds. The whole thing nearly blew its top, but a few of us managed to release th

loria, with a cluck of her tongue.

way into her features served only to underscore her elegance. She fixed her hair, striped with its first strands of silver, pulled back into a tight bun, and even at the b

nything we haven't been trained for. I j

alking about opening their doors again. I could have y

ve been thro

e a chance to have a calling

ompleted the sentence: "Pr

ng to say

s life to the creation of objects of beauty. No one held this view closer to their hearts than the Graus clan. Over the generations, Nita's family had produced some o

ythmic grace that showed in her every motion. Her eyes were ice blue, a match for her mother's, and she took the time each morning to paint her fingernails, color her lips, pull up her hair, and otherwise put an artist's touch to her delicate features. Nita wasn't quite as tall, wasn't quite as

a. Though just finishing his schooling, he had already made a name for himself as both a sculptor and a musician. A part of that, perhaps, was having Lita as a model and dancer for his composi

mily tradition. Alas, she didn't have the legs for dance, nor the ear for music. Though her hands were steady enough, she didn't have the eye for painting or sculpture. It wasn't until she tried her hand at constructing the intricate clockwork music boxes that had brought her father his fortune that she found her true talent. She was a tinkerer, and something in the building of a m

ave to toil away

here, and I do it well. Foreman Stover says the system-wide pressure

yed a complete lack of understanding of anything Nita had said, sav

asked, spooning out a serving of the

raid. He's to discuss matters with the

ncil? Ab

rimeter battery, I imagine. No doubt they want to request an