Vanguard was a hard man to describe. People didn't like to look at his face long enough to notice any real detail. If they had looked, they would have noticed the tell-tale signs of a long career in service. They would have seen the scars and the tattoos, the patch on the side of his jaw where the skin had been burnt away. He reached up and ran one finger over the scars, feeling the coarse hairs that half masked the puckered skin. The scars didn't make him any less attractive. Time had done a good enough job of that. At a guess, you might have thought that he was older than fifty. Nobody was
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