A DELIVERY TO A SUNLESS WORLD GOES WRONG.

Rand felt an abrupt slap on his heavily padded shoulder. Keeping one eye fixed on the ghostly path ahead, he twisted his neck sufficiently to see Lieutenant Emerson leaning forward to point at an analog dial on the control panel.

"That’s the trip timer," she explained, raising her voice to be heard above the rising howl of the wind and indicating a large dial centered on the instrument array. “You need to keep close tabs on that. We don’t want to go beyond forty minutes on the trip out, if you can manage it. I’d like to maintain a healthy safety level.”

"No argument there," came Vekh’s voice from somewhere inside the fur-trimmed hood of his parka.

"What’re the realistic odds of our running into these ice wolves of yours?" Rand called back.

There was a brief silence. Rand caught a faint metallic click that suggested the two security guards had switched on walkie-talkie systems built into their hoods, and were exchanging brief comments not meant for Vekh or his own ears. Then Lieutenant Emerson was back at his shoulder.

"Overall, there’s nothing to worry about. Around the halfway point to the camp, we’ve had several prior run-ins with a wandering pack. They seem to have staked out that stretch of territory as their home turf. Not to worry, though. We have more than enough ammunition to scare them off. I’ll let you know when we get close."