The Distant Ghost
Act I Every man on the generation ship knows the weight of the air, and how it presses against the sternum like a hand that refuses to let go. Petr Kolar stood at the edge of the banquet table, the crystal goblet in his hand trembling not from the cold, but from the sheer, crushing density of the silence that had fallen over the hall. He was thirty-four years old, a constable with twelve years...
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