Downbelow, the Inhabitants make music in the infrared, and I bathe my own inhabitants (those lower-case, the Humans) in subtle movements of warmth.
I wear my history, in the constant circulation of signals, in the minute dents in the hull; one does not travel through space or time and remain unmarked. In life, I wore the razor scar of the dueling-blade that laid open my face to the back-teeth. I did not flinch at my opponent’s blade, nor did I parry fast enough to entirely turn it aside.
It was an honorable scar, from a duel to the death. I was the one who walked away. Only later, I learned that was a useless way to settle an argument.
I wear the count of my dead, among them the one I slew in single combat.
From character interview with Naime the Shipwright, the oldest character in the cast.
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