“I was briefed about Duarte, back in the day,” the old woman said. “Mars didn’t want to share anything back then. I thought at the time it was because they’d just been surprise ass-fucked by one of their own, and it was shame. That was true as far as it went, but after I retired, I made him a hobby of mine.” “A hobby?” “I’m shitty at quilting. I had to do something,” she said, waving a hand. Then a moment later, “I found his thesis.” The little book she held out was printed on thin paper with a pale-green cover. It was rough against her fingertips. The title was in a simple font with no
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