The Faded Alibi
"Register or lose the berth," the clerk said, not looking up from the slate. "The deadline is tonight, Yamamoto. You have three days." I stepped into the reclamation yard where the dead machines rusted under the new sun. Nine days of rain had finally stopped, leaving the air heavy with the smell of wet iron and ozone. The cable lines stretched across the cliff path, strung with prayer flags...
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