Rafian At The Edge - 50

He should leave her. He knew that. The military would come looking. They would scan the Edge 50 , find his illegal modifications, his unlicensed reactor, his decades of unclaimed salvage. They would take everything.

It was a woman. Young—maybe twenty-five. Her face was bloodied, her eyes closed. A tattoo of the Earth’s orbital rings curled around her left temple. Military. Definitely military. But her uniform bore no insignia, no rank. rafian at the edge 50

“Juno,” he said, keying his comm. “Prepare medical bay. And wipe the last six hours from the local sensor logs.” He should leave her

Juno was the platform’s AI core—or what was left of it. Most of her memory banks had been scavenged years ago, but the fragments that remained were fiercely loyal. She was less a computer now and more a ghost with a schedule. They would scan the Edge 50 , find