Chapter 14: Mark | page 5

The next day, Coldhand made his way down to Level Nine, pausing in his descent long enough to spend some of his dwindling color on some new clothes. Despite the neutral temperature of the environmentally controlled city, he bought a long-sleeved coat and full gloves, effectively hiding his cybernetic hand when he pulled them on. No one would recognize Coldhand’s face. It was for his metal limb for which he was named and that might be recognized. The hem of the coat reached his knees, hiding his low-slung Talon.

By early afternoon, Coldhand had spoken to almost every chem dealer from that part of Level Nine. From each, he tried to buy fifty vials of Vanora White, far more than anyone kept in stock. About the time that Coldhand’s stomach was growling in protest of a second neglected meal, having missed breakfast already, he found what he needed. For the last of Coldhand’s money, the chemical vendor sold him two vials of White.

“I can put you in contact with someone who can sell you the rest of it.”

The dealer was a thin Axial man with sunken cheeks and mismatched eyes. The green one on the right stared perpetually down the side of his nose, leaving only the brown left eye to focus on Coldhand.

“Around here, only the Steels have that much White,” he told the bounty hunter. “I could probably get thirty vials from north side in about a week for cheaper, but you’re in a hurry. A man like you has better things to do than wait around for his chems. Am I right? Meet me there tonight and I’ll have a contact for you.”

Coldhand was waiting for the odd eyed dealer early that evening. The man was smirking and rubbing a pair of grubby white chips together between his fingers. A finder’s fee from the Steelskins for bringing in a new customer, no doubt.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “The Steelskins will send their man here at eight o’clock sharp with the goods. A Dailon fellow called Vyron.”

“Will you be here?” Coldhand asked. How many would there be? What kind of fight did he need to prepare for?

The dealer gave him an oily smile, misinterpreting the hunter’s question. “I got me some business on the other side,” he said. He patted Coldhand on the shoulder companionably. “But don’t be nervous, my boy. As long as you got the color to pay, you’ve nothing to be afraid of, eh?”

“Will Vyron bring… friends?” Coldhand tried to sound worried. He was not a skilled actor, but the pregnant pause in his question seemed enough to convince the other man.

“Steelskins usually send Vyron with a couple of their own for muscle these days,” he said, nodding. “He used to deal alone just fine, but I hear he got caught a level down by another gang. They had a Nnyth of a time getting him back.”

“I’m surprised the Steelskins went after him,” Coldhand commented honestly.

“Count me in on that. But Vyron’s a sweet talker,” the other human said. “I guess they didn’t want to have to replace him. Be here in the morning with the color and they’ll have your White.”

Coldhand thanked him curtly and left. He was out of money, but it didn’t matter anymore. He had what he needed. Once he was out of sight of the empty fueling station, he tossed the two vials of Vanora White he had purchased into a rusty trash can. Pointless stuff, a depressant that would only deaden his already leaden nerves. If it did anything at all. Coldhand had no use for it.