The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-17 13:03:33 -

"You are late." The voice did not come from a throat. It hummed from the iron ribs of the machine. I stood before the Central Calibration Engine. It filled the room. It was a cathedral of brass and glass, a beast of steam and logic. The air smelled of ozone and hot metal. My hands shook. I did not care. "Apologies," I said. My voice was thin. A reed in a gale. I am Margaret Holloway. I am the...

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