Chester “Ched” Edwards, one-time heir to AllRound Enterprises, spits out gobs of dirt and dried blood and takes a gulp from his water line. It tastes like warm piss. The horizon strobes magenta, each spike followed by a pitch-shifting whine, loose and ghostly. If this is a storm, it is unlike any he has ever seen. He unzips his landing suit, feeling around for his radio, keying in the number he’s been given. “Chester Edwards, customer 412-695-B. Waiting for agent.” Nothing but white noise. His pod is still visible as a trapezoid lump, overtly geometrical against the marshy flatness. He…

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