To the rest of the galaxy, the storm worlds were scientific curiosities—treasure chests of exotic gases and kinetic energy. To those born in the glass domes, the storm was a god. It dictated when they ate, when they slept, and when they died.
He jammed the final anchor into place and slammed the "Lock" button. The dampener hummed to life, creating a shimmering blue veil of force over the colony's weakest sector. The Piercer hit a second later. To the rest of the galaxy, the storm
The sky on Kaelos wasn't a ceiling; it was an ocean of violet electricity and bruised clouds that never stopped screaming. On the "storm worlds"—planets locked in perpetual atmospheric chaos—life wasn't lived; it was endured in the brief, terrifying gaps between thunderclaps. He jammed the final anchor into place and
"For today," he whispered. "The storm lets us stay for today." The sky on Kaelos wasn't a ceiling; it