WHOOO—OOOH!
A brass steam-whistle big enough to swallow a mountain echoed across the dark vacuum of space.
Golden sword-beams shot out from the front of Dry-Well Express No. 1, paving a solid, glowing railway track through the starry void at ten thousand miles a second. Behind the black-iron locomotive, three hundred armored train cars rattled cheerily. Red paper lanterns hung from the eaves of every car, and the rich, mouth-watering smell of simmering mutton soup leaked out of the kitchen vents, leaving a trail of white steam across the stars.
Out on the open iron observation deck at the bow of the flagship train, Pei Xuan stood with his hands tucked into his padded cotton sleeves. A warm sheepskin coat hung over his shoulders, and the golden mini-sun inside his Rank 8 Early Star-Realm dantian hummed like a well-oiled stove, keeping the deadly cold of outer space three feet away from his nose.
“Look at that thing, Old Wei,” Pei Xuan said, pointing his chin toward the center of the new solar system ahead of them. “Have you ever seen such a terrible waste of good firewood?”
Beside him, Old Wei shifted his heavy black-iron broadsword with his single scarred arm and squinted across the dark void.
