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Mark Atwood
fallenpegasus
fallenpegasus
Last nights dreams have already faded like dew under bright sun, but I remember little bits.

Walking down a concrete stairwell with a man I had struck up a conversation with. He was huge, and muscled, and had scars on scars, and lots of evidence of impromptu field-expedient surgery.

Scan-excavating a mostly destroyed mostly subterranean structure. Watching software coalescing the scan data, piecing parts back together, and finally constructing an image of what it all used to be. It was glorious, all gold and white marble, with domes of polished crystal, set on top of a mountain. Several of the people I was working with were xenoarchaeologists.

Damn. Now I want to read the novelization of this dream...

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