The Perihelion Protocol
The Perihelion Protocol I. The woman who hired me had eyes like broken glass. She sat in my office on Sunset Boulevard and slid an envelope across the desk. Ten thousand dollars in crisp bills, the kind that smell like a bank, not a person. "Palomar Observatory," she said. Her name was Evelyn Cross, and her voice was the sort of voice that made you do things you would later regret. "Look at...
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