Stranded On Santa Astarta Access

“Life support is critical,” came the vox-click of Mender Korr, the ship’s enginseer. “Atmosphere will be breathable for another four point three standard hours. After that, nitrogen narcosis, then hypoxia.”

“A Logician,” Korr whispered, awe in his binaric cant. “A living, thinking engine of the Old Night. It runs the city.” stranded on santa astarta

The brain’s eye—a single, optic lens mounted on a stalk—swiveled toward them. A voice, soft and feminine, spoke from a vox-grill embedded in the wall. “Life support is critical,” came the vox-click of