The last circus touches down on the lunar surface in a cacophony of zoological discomfort. The caged animals hate microgravity, but the return to stable gravity, even the moon’s reduced pull, is even worse for them.
Once we’re green, I clean out the cages and get them ready for transport into Armstrong City. I’m brushing down one of the lions when I see a line of scar tissue under his mane. I ping the owner.
“Boss, Leon’s got cell degradation. You’d better call the cloners.” I pet the lion and stare up through the dome at the lifeless, ruined Earth.

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