Ocean of Dust

I’ll be honest: I went into *Ocean of Dust* expecting another *Hunger Games* in space. What I got was something messier, meaner, and—ultimately—more interesting. Lissa isn’t Katniss; she’s a mechanic’s apprentice with a mouth that writes checks her skills can’t always cash, and that recklessness makes her compelling. Graeme Ing’s strength is in the *textures*—the way the ship’s failing gravity feels in your gut, the way Farq’s cruelty isn’t cartoonish but *administrative*, a man who’d rather starve you with paperwork than a knife. Becky Doughty’s narration is the secret weapon here. She doesn’t just *read* Farq’s lines; she *savors* them, letting his faux-polite threats drip like poisoned honey. Her Lissa, meanwhile, sounds like a real teenager: brave but not stupid, scared but not whiny. The production is clean, though I docked half a star for a few awkward pauses where the editing didn’t quite smooth over Doughty’s breath intakes. The middle act drags—there’s a 45-minute stretch where Lissa’s sabotage investigations start to feel like *The Martian* without the humor—but the payoff is worth it. The climax is *visceral*, a sequence so tense I actually paused to yell at my headphones. That said, the romance subplot feels tacked on, a weak attempt to soften a story that’s otherwise delightfully sharp-edged. And while the ending lands, it leaves just enough unresolved to frustrate listeners who prefer neat bows. Still, for fans of morally gray survival stories (think *Lock In* meets *Lord of the Flies* in zero-G), this is a standout. Doughty’s performance elevates it from “good” to “stay-up-past-bedtime” compelling. Just don’t expect sunshine and rainbows—this ship’s leaking atmosphere *and* humanity.