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They fly eternally across the desert.

The Navigator sits miserably in his map room. There is a whining in his ears and a pressure in his head. The cook runs him up a cup of tea and an aspirin.
"It's the dust," she says. "Gets in your lungs something awful."
"It's not dust," the Navigator tells her.
"Are you sick with something?" she asks. "You look pale."
"I'm not sick." he says.

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