The Faded Quadrant
Act I The charter was a document no one had read, a ghost in the machine of the colony. Nikos Nikolaidis stood in the break room of the night warehouse, the air tasting of ozone and stale coffee, watching the shadow of the new orbital dock stretch long and thin across the concrete floor. It was a long dusk, the kind that hung in the Cypriot interior like a wet cloth, drowning the landscape...
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