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    Summary

    “Our only real pleasure is to squander our resources to no purpose, just as if a wound were bleeding away inside us; we always want to be sure of the uselessness or ruinousness of our extravagance.”
    - Georges Bataille, Erotism: Death and Sensuality

    Myrine Whitlock's one true love in life was biology. Life. Breaking things apart so she could understand how they came together. Coasting through on the company payroll with black marks on her psychological profile that stated she 'had difficulties with empathy' and that 'she would be unsuited for leadership'.

    It was the kind of rhetoric that landed her on a sixty-five-year trip through space, trapped with a crew that embodied just about every annoyance she had ever experienced in her remarkably long career. She had expected the isolation, the long hours trapped in the company of specimens infinitely more fascinating than her fellow man's moral squabbles over a company they'd sold their souls to for a half-share.

    She hadn't expected the crash.

    And she certainly hadn't expected him.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    13,072
    Chapters:
    2/?
    Comments:
    7
    Kudos:
    28
    Bookmarks:
    7
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