The Pale Meridian
The fatigue data is anecdotal noise, Vance said, not looking up from his tablet. The air in the boardroom was recycled and cold, a sterile chill that settled in the lungs like sediment. I stood at the head of the table, my fingers white-knuckled around the edge of the mahogany, feeling the grain bite into my skin. The projection screen behind me displayed the stress-strain curves for the...
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