The Jazz Age Quest
Act I The machine woke him the way a bride wakes—slowly, with light and music and the knowledge that everything would never be the same. Dr. Arthur Pendelton opened his eyes to a ceiling of glass, and through that glass, the Manhattan sky in 2093 wore its usual arrogance of blue. The cryo-chamber hissed open with the tenderness of a mother parting curtains. Seventy-four years. He had slept in...
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