The Wistful Atlas
Chapter One I have always believed that silence is a debt you owe the living. In the East End of the Martian colony, where the air recyclers grove like old men in pain, that debt is collected daily. I am Esther Pell, and I work the repair quota with no parts, fixing what should not need fixing. The medical printer in my corner was low on filament, its red light blinking a slow, accusatory...
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