Chapter Two: No Such Person

The door opened. A tall, thin man entered carrying a paper folder. He wore the dark blue of the Archives, but a real graphite pencil was clipped to his collar. In Dawnline, where wood and water were rationed by the gram, both paper and pencil bordered on obscene luxury. “Zhou Cen, Historical Consistency,” he said. “I’m here to assess cognitive contamination.” Voss frowned. “I didn’t request an archivist.” “The system did.” Zhou looked at Lin. His eyes paused on her swollen cheek. “Describe this alleged Han Tuo.” Lin did. Born in Taiyuan on Earth. Second colonial wave. Twice the approved chili ration on his algae cakes. Every Tuesday he disabled Bay Three’s camera to sing badly to his dead wife.