The Glass Ceiling of the Galaxy
The office was a vacuum of white marble and holographic displays, perched at the apex of the Terran Hegemony's spire in New York. Julian Vane adjusted his cufflinks, his reflection in the glass showing a man who had sold his soul in increments of ten percent until there was nothing left but a high-functioning suit. "The Xylos Delegation is arriving," his assistant whispered. "They've agreed to...
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