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Weekly Contest #134
Jorim Callan drifted at the threshold of the big, blue planet of Chloris. Five-thousand kilometers closer and he’d be in the kill zone of the Terrestrials’ orbital defense platforms and surface-to-space missiles. He was certain that his very distant nieces and nephews were holed up somewhere in the crater-cities of the Malina Chain. That great, domed ribbon of shattered ice taunted him as it entered and left his view with each revolution around the planet, reminding him of what he and his people were denied. If anyone by the name of Callan d...
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