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Flash Fiction
“It’s wilting,” Elara said, her hand still on the valve. “I’m fixing the intake.”
The ship remained part of him. But the mission had ended.
Sometimes it was gratitude taking a longer form.
She wasn’t “Elara the Fixer” or “Elara the Soldier.” She was just Elara
Becoming, he understood, was not additive. It was subtractive.
The civilian cotton felt “dangerously light”
People left for reasons that had nothing to do with him
The Mae West Protocol
The Constant
USS Khitomer – “No talk. Just air and gravity.”
The Tug
“You’d rather be lost by design than arrive by accident.”
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