The Distant Promise
Could he remember the taste of the bread, or only the hunger? I‌​⁠⁠‌‌‌​​‌‌​‍‌⁠⁠⁠​⁠​‍⁠⁠⁠​‌​​​​​​​​​​​​​​‌⁠‍‌‌​⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‍‍‍‍​⁠​⁠‍⁠⁠‌⁠​​‍‍​‌⁠‌⁠‍ Henryk Wozniak stood at the bottom of the central stairwell, the air thick with the ozone bite of the desalination pumps, and watched the voting token slip from his fingers. It was a brass disc, cold and heavy, marked with the insignia of a colony that had...
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