The Faded Chronicle
"Notice: Berth 402, Sector 7. Payment overdue. Three days to cure or forfeiture of cargo rights." The paper was thin, flimsy, the kind that tore if you looked at it too hard, and it sat on the metal table in the galley, next to a cup of tea that had gone cold and bitter. I picked it up. The ink was smudged where my thumb had pressed it, a dark stain spreading like a bruise. Outside, the hum of...
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