Rafian At The Edge: 50

But he was still breathing. Out here, that was a kind of victory.

Rafian smiled, a rare and crooked thing. “Objection logged. Now patch me through to the surface telemetry.” rafian at the edge 50

He pulled up a chair. He was exhausted, hungry, and fifty years old. But as the storm raged outside and the woman slept, Rafian Kael felt something he had not felt in a very long time. But he was still breathing

He called himself a "salvage ecologist." Others called him a grave-robber. The truth, as always, lay somewhere in the frozen permafrost between. rafian at the edge 50

“Military issue,” Rafian whispered. “Silicon-carbide hull. No transponder. No distress call.”