Rusts! Wax’s sister hung half out of the machine’s open side, looking down, though Wayne could barely make her out with the light so low. He hadn’t figured that Telsin would be the adventurous type, what with Wax being all calm and careful most of the time. Yet there she was, doing her best imitation of a pub sign flapping in the wind. He nodded in appreciation, then untied his little belt thing, and got up to look at what she was seeing.

He stepped over their packs, which had toppled from the neat stack Steris had made, then leaned out next to Telsin. That let him look down at a long line of people—lit by lanterns—trudging through what appeared to be waist-high snow. Poor sods.

Wax stepped up to the other opening, looking down with his spyglass. Wayne couldn’t see much, himself. He held on with one hand and took out his box of gum, shaking it. Only one ball left. Damn. Well, at least it had plenty of powder on it. That would help perk him up, it would.

“Do you see him?” Telsin asked.

“I think so,” Wax said. “Wait. Yes, that’s him. I’ll bet they left on their expedition the moment they got word of what happened with us at the warehouse.” He reached into his holster and took out one of his guns. He gave the rusting things names, but Wayne could never keep them straight. It was one of the ones with the long tubey thing on the front what spat bits of metal at the bad guys.

“Let me do it,” Telsin said, voice passionate.

Wayne hesitated, ball of gum halfway to his mouth. That was quite the bloodthirst this woman had.

“You can’t make a shot like this,” Wax said. “Not sure if I can either.”

“Let me try,” Telsin begged. “I don’t care what it takes. I want him dead. Another will take his place, but I want him dead.”

Wax sighted for a long moment, and everyone in the ship seemed to hold their breath. Finally, Wax lowered his gun. “No,” he said. “Your testimony in court will do more against the Set than killing a man for no reason other than vengeance. And I’d rather have him to interrogate anyway.” He holstered the gun.

Wayne nodded. Reliable chap, that Wax. Steady. The same on a good day and a bad. Wayne moved to retreat into the ship’s interior, but as he scrambled over the seats, he somehow got tangled a little with Telsin and, in the process, kicked one of the packs out the opening.

Wayne stared down, aghast, as it fell and actually hit one of the men on the head.

“What did you do?” Telsin demanded.

Wayne winced.

“What did Wayne do now?” Marasi asked, a sense of resignation in her voice.

“He kicked that pack out right on top of them,” Telsin said.

“’S not my fault,” he said. “Wax woke me up too soon. Put me off balance.” He looked back at the ship’s other occupants. Wax sighed, moving up beside the pilot. Steris and MeLaan sat on the back bench, out of the way—MeLaan lounging in a rather attractive way, Steris bent over a large notebook. Taking notes? What was wrong with that woman?