Ro had half expected Pan’s voice to echo over the rain-soaked courtyard, and yet it was a high-pitched squeak that stopped him in his tracks. He turned to see Kisma Uttersond hobbling toward him as fast as the rotund doctor’s mechanical leg could carry him. Even though they had worked together for months the Chadra-Fan was still something of a mystery to Ro. He had seen Uttersond conduct the most brilliant experiments, constructing torture devices so exquisite they would make a Galderian salivate, and yet the diminutive surgeon lurched around on a rusty old prosthetic liberated from a 1-1A medical droid. You would have thought the bat-faced doctor would have built himself something a little more efficient, but Uttersond cared little for elegance, as his filthy lab coat and greasy fur ably demonstrated. Only the work mattered. Ro liked that, admired it even, whatever his first impressions of the Chadra-Fan had been. Plus, such undivided focus meant that there was little chance of Uttersond betraying him, unlike the others.

“Well?” the doctor demanded. “Did you get it? The Great Leveler?”

Not many people would dare talk to Ro like that, but he let it pass. Uttersond was excited, his mismatched eyes peering through smeared glasses, one pupil forever blown, the result of a failed experiment years before Ro had become aware of the scientist’s particular talents.

Ro pushed wet hair from his own eyes. “Still encased in the ice, ready to be transported up to your laboratory on the Gaze.”

“The refrigeration unit worked?”

“It did.”

That seemed to please the Chadra-Fan, who chirped happily.

“And the Talortai?”

“Was completely overwhelmed by the experience.”

Uttersond licked already moist lips. “Excellent. Did he survive?”

“Unfortunately not.”

The scientist nodded as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “A pity, but the subject is ready for testing.”

Ro put a hand on the Chadra-Fan’s shoulder. “Patience, my friend. We need to take our time. There is no telling what damage the defrosting process could cause.”

Uttersond removed his glasses, wiping the lenses absently with a callused thumb. “Of course, of course. Once I have the dimensions of the ice block, I can fabricate a heating rig.”

“A heating rig for what?”

Ro withdrew his hand at the sound of the voice. He turned to see Pan marching across the exercise yard, flanked on both sides by his fellow Tempest Runners, Zeetar’s hydraulics steaming in the cold rain. The Talpini had picked up a studded battle hammer. Interesting. Perhaps Ro had misjudged the antagonism between the two Runners. A pity. At least none of Zeetar’s Nihil seemed to be around. Not yet at least. Pan’s own ship—the Elegencia—was standing nearby, members of Eyta’s crew playing sabacc beneath its massive hull. They also looked up from the cards, hearing the edge in their Runner’s voice.