Kaysplanet Hot! -

“I’m not late,” Jorie said. “I’m exactly as desperate as I need to be.”

It was a shell.

“You’re late,” a voice crackled through her comm. The speaker was an old woman named Pol, a relic who’d been picking the bones of Kaysplanet for thirty years. She lived in a pressurized hab clamped to a chunk of ice the size of a cathedral. kaysplanet