“I know, Juno.”
By the time he sealed the Edge 50’s airlock, the storm was a white shriek against the hull. He laid the woman on the medical bay cot and watched as Juno’s auto-docs began their quiet work. rafian at the edge 50
He called himself a "salvage ecologist." Others called him a grave-robber. The truth, as always, lay somewhere in the frozen permafrost between. “I know, Juno
Someone was alive down there.
Rafian stood on the observation blister, his scarred face reflected in the thick polycarbonate. Beyond the glass, the Scar stretched into blackness, its walls glinting with veins of frozen ammonia. This was the edge. Fall here, and you’d tumble for three minutes before the pressure crushed you into diamond. the Scar stretched into blackness