Chapter 14: Mark | page 7

Vyron and the other Steelskins were early. He walked past Coldhand’s resting place without glancing down. He carried a metal briefcase with deep scratches across the ribbed sides. The Dailon was tall and lean, with deep sapphire skin and long, glossy black hair worn in a braid. Vyron’s eyes were the same pure jet color as the rest of his race, but they had a bright, nervous shine to them. They were difficult to read, but Coldhand thought that Steelskins’ front man was not as confident as he should have been. He glanced back often at his three companions.

All four wore denims and shirts in varying shades of the black and gray that seemed to be the Steelskin colors. Two of Vyron’s associates were huge, at least half Hadrian. They both towered at least seven feet tall, with dark skin and pale eyes. At their waists, half covered by the hems of their shirts, each wore a laser pistol with black tape over the power indicators.

Those lights were surely flashing orange or red, Coldhand thought. The gang’s weapon resources would have been taxed to their limit by the shoot-out with the Axis police. Leaving the lights uncovered would warn their targets, as much as their owners, that the power cells were running low. With the indicators covered, the bounty hunter could not count how many shots each had left.

Walking behind the other three, the last Steelskin was an Arcadian. He had blond hair shaved close to his scalp and the point of his left ear was clipped off. The fairy man wore a long gray coat, slit in the back to accommodate his wings. Half-concealed underneath, Coldhand caught the glitter of something that threw back the artificial sunlight in tiny rainbows. Glass.

He would have to be careful of the Arcadian, the bounty hunter decided, and kill him as soon as possible. Chasing Cavainna had taught him the dangers of their glass weapons. They were archaic, compared to laser and nanotechnologies, but were wickedly sharp and almost unbreakable. She had nearly gutted him on several occasions with her spear.

Coldhand waited until the four Steelskins had taken up positions at the abandoned fueling depot, clustered around one of the empty pumps. He crept closer, slipping his Talon from the holster and clicking off the safety. The two humans leaned on the derelict machinery, boasting and telling stories. Vyron seemed distracted and said little. Relegated to the only real work to be done for the moment, the Arcadian stood at the corner and watched the street for the approach of their promised customer. Coldhand circled to the far side, behind the fairy. As the bounty hunter closed, one of the Hadrian men was thumping Vyron on the back.

“Relax, Vy. When we’re done, we’ll send the bird,” he said, jabbing a dark finger the Arcadian’s direction, “back to Jainna with the color and we’ll take you out for a drink. You need to unwind.”

“Yeah, you been outta it ever since the Sisters, Vy,” the other agreed.

Vyron shrugged noncommittally and craned his head from side to side, looking for his customer. He spotted Coldhand approaching and smiled congenially, until he saw the long-barreled pistol in the bounty hunter’s hand. The Dailon didn’t have a chance to warn his companions before the shriek of laser fire raised the alarm.