The Wistful Witness
I. The sleet hit the observation blister with a sound like tearing wet paper, a continuous, abrasive hiss that drowned out the hum of the oxygen scrubbers and the low, rhythmic thrum of the geothermal vents beneath the floor. I am Aiko Suzuki, forty-two years old, and I have spent twenty of those years guarding the line between the Emperor’s will and the chaos of the lower decks, a job that...
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