The Distant Machine
Could the walls of the ship really be alive, or was it just the way the air tasted of copper and old paper? Lucia Bellini stood in the ruined eastern wing of the archive, her boots sinking into a slurry of wet plaster and crushed vellum. The heat shimmered off the exposed rebar, a physical weight that pressed against her temples, making her vision blur until the dust motes looked like floating...
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