Xantoverse Shadowkill by T. F. Grant, C. F. Barnes Page B

never likely be able to afford them. Besides, dalgef-made knocks-offs would be on the market within a few cycles. She could already see a couple of the bulky bipeds at the front of the crowd scrutinizing the design.
    “Weapon aficionados of all creeds and persuasions, let me introduce Napier Industries ‘new flagship pistol, the Gilmour Signature Mark II, aka, The Terror Hawk.”
    More claps and cheers went up as Maximum Saul went into the drivel of technical specs, playing up every slight change to the caliber and firing rate, getting the gun nuts hard with numbers that were ultimately meaningless. The only one that mattered was the retail price. And ninety-nine percent of the scumbags in this hall would never be able to afford it.
    Still, there were other ways.
    “We’re in,” Tai said, whispering to her. “Let’s go.”
    Kina kept watch on the crowd as Tai opened the door and slipped inside. Moving backwards, she too shifted around the door and stepped into the dark access tunnel of Napier Industries’ warehouse unit. She shut the door slowly, closing off the applause and Saul’s exaggerations.
    Tai grabbed her arm and led her through a maze of dark corridors. She wanted to take the mask and ill-fitting robe off, but she couldn’t be sure if they weren’t being watched. “Where the hell is she?” Kina said when they rounded into what must have been the twentieth passage.
    “Fulfillment, just over here.”
    Tai pointed to an open door. Light spilled out from inside. They approached slowly, their backs to the wall. Tai peaked round the door and then waved for Kina to join him. Once inside, Tai took of his mask. Kina followed suit and wiped the sweat from her face.
    The room made her mouth drop open. Ten meters square, the space had racking units running along each wall, every shelf crammed with boxes of weapons. Sitting on a stool, hunched over a desk, a frail human figure organized order chits.
    “Be with you in a second, Tairon,” she said with a croaky voice as she continued to stamp chits from one pile and checking off something on a piece of slate with chalk. “Close the door.”
    Kina stepped back and did as she was asked. It was so rare to see a human as old as this. Life expectancy on Haven rarely got beyond the fifty standard years.
    “Sarod, I, just wanted to thank you for agreeing to see us and help us out,” Kina said approaching the old woman’s desk.
    Sarod looked up at her. Her right eye was a mess of scarred flesh, while her left was distended and cloudy. A black iris seemed to swim to the surface through a milky gloom as she focused on Kina. “No dear,” Sarod’s dry, whispering voice said. “It’s you who are here to help me.”
    Kina flashed a look at Tai. What the hell was this about? She was supposed to supply Tai and Kina with some of Napier’s more exclusive, non-catalogue weaponry. Tai shrugged at her and wore an expression she had come to know all too well: the expression of dropping her into something she couldn’t back out from.
    “I don’t understand,” Kina said.
    “The weapons are there,” Sarod said, pointing to a box set aside on a shelf on the left wall. Her wrists extended beyond her blue kronac-cotton coat. So small and frail it looked like it would snap under the barest of touches. Her white hair was so thin, it almost appeared as if it were translucent over her mottled scalp. “But you need to do something for me.”
    “Of course,” Kina said.
    Nothing happened in Haven without a deal. Kina was already reaching for her trade-stamp inside her robe, when Sarod grabbed her forearm with a weak grip. “No,” she croaked, “no deal. Off the record, sweet girl. A courtesy.”
    Turning to Tai, Sarod nodded to the box of weapons. “Take them, and leave us.”
    “You got it, Sar, and thanks again. I’ll owe your family.”
    “I have no family,” Sarod said, “but you already knew that, Tairon. Don’t take me for a fool. I’m too long in the tooth for