“You’re not helping, Wayne,” Waxillium said calmly. He was sure Ranette wouldn’t shoot. Well, reasonably sure. Maybe. “Oh, you actually want me to help?” Wayne said. “Right. You still have that aluminum gun I gave you?” “Tucked in the small of my back,” Waxillium said. “Without any bullets.” “Hey, Ranette!” Wayne called. “I’ve got a neat gun you can have!” She hesitated. “Wait,” Waxillium said, “I wanted that—” “Don’t be a baby,” Wayne said to him.
