"Oh, not for a living," she said. She reached down and clicked off the map light, then stretched, briskly tapping her fingernails against the fabric roof. She wore a short-sleeved shirt of undyed cotton, and Alex noted with vague alarm that her freckled arms were lithe with muscle. "That’s for TV crews, or labcoat types. With us, it doesn’t pay. That’s the cool thing about it. If you’re in the Troupe, you just do storms. "