Keenser shot a 'what the hell' glance at Scott. Wordlessly, he removed his left glove and pushed up his sleeve. Palm up, he bared the smooth underside of his forearm for scrutiny. His pollen slit was barely visible as a thin, tight seam in the smooth, leathery bark that ran from the base of his wrist to his mid-forearm, roughly an inch and a half from the crease of his inner elbow.
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James T. Kirk

January 2020

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