James A. Honey

“Son of a f**king whore,” Avasarala said, loud enough to cut through the background buzz of conversations.The crowd turned to her. She was looking at her hand terminal.“What’s a whore, Daddy?”“It’s a kind of frost, honey,” Prax said. “What’s going on?””

“Son of a fucking whore,” Avasarala said, loud enough to cut through the background buzz of conversations. The crowd turned to her. She was looking at her hand terminal. “What’s a whore, Daddy?” “It’s a kind of frost, honey,” Prax said.””