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The command center was silent but for the singing of the computers. No human voice dared speak as we passed into Saturn’s shadow. It was ridiculous and illogical, but superstition is a hard thing to train out of people who exist upon the knife’s edge of life and death. Arviat glided ghostlike through airless, sunless wastes. The five of us were strapped tight into our seats, our hair drifting like seaweed in the null gravity, silently hoping we could complete the final leg of our voyage without being set upon by pirates. On my screen I beheld a great black