The Faded Shield
Thorne. The name hung in the sterile air of the orbital station Aegis, spoken not by a person but by the cold, omnipresent hum of the station’s AI, a voice that vibrated in the teeth rather than the ears. Elias Thorne, thirty years old and worn thin by the Border Wars, stared at the cracked nutrient tablet in his hand. It was a small, glowing square of compressed protein and vitamins, the only...
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