“Sometimes hate and fear are the only weapons we have.”
- Gren Barviss, Lyran Consul (750 MA)
Duaal seethed. So Tiberius thought he couldn’t handle one wounded bounty hunter? Who did he think Duaal was? Some ordinary, helpless boy? He lifted his hand and snapped a few words. The air around him crackled menacingly.
I’m the only one there’s ever been! A human mage! Can Coldhand say that? Or Tiberius? Or… or…
It was said that Coldhand felt no pain, that he was as tireless and unstoppable as a machine. He was a ruthless hunter and, when the situation demanded it, an efficient killer. But he was just one man, Duaal told himself excitedly, with a reputation surpassing his own only because the mage hadn’t yet had the chance to prove himself!
Stray’s fat crimson sun was setting. Evening was coming on. The scattered shadows and their owners were drifting home through the darkening streets. In the circle of the great marketplace, vendors hawked their remaining wares with peaked desperation as their business wandered away. As the last customers vanished into the sinking twilight, merchants unfolded static covers and closed their stalls for the night.
Where to begin? He was hunting the hunter! The excitement tasted hot and metallic. Duaal tapped his fingers against the jug of delberry wine, thinking. Gharib wasn’t the biggest city on Stray, but it was certainly large enough for a single bounty hunter to lose himself in. Tiberius said that he shot Coldhand, just once. Unless some of the really wild rumors were true—that the monster had nitric coolant running through his veins, instead of blood, or that he was really a robot, not human—he would be bleeding from the wound. If he was on the run, Coldhand would need to put some distance between himself and Tiberius before he could stop to tend the injury. So he was leaving a blood trail, right?
Feeling quite pleased with his cleverness, Duaal made his way back towards the Blue Phoenix. He stopped three landing pads down from where his ship had been berthed. He peered around the rounded nose of another ship that, to guess by the liquid lines and the name, Riptide, came from Hyzaar. Just like Duaal himself.
Beyond, the Phoenix was still grounded, probably waiting for clearance from Stray’s automated air control system. Duaal frowned. He would have preferred to start there, but he didn’t want to risk Tiberius seeing and stopping him. Duaal circled the landing, searching for the telltale signs of Coldhand’s blood. It wasn’t until he looped back around to the other side of the Riptide, facing the Phoenix, that he found what he was looking for.
Duaal felt vaguely disappointed at the tiny cinnamon-colored spray. He had expected a great red splash of gushing life-blood. He leaned close to examine the minute daub of gore. They weren’t drops, but smeared fingerprints. There must have been blood on the bounty hunter’s hand. Duaal squinted. His right hand, since there were tiny, whorled ridges in the crusted blood. The cybernetic fingers of the hunter’s left hand were smooth and wouldn’t have left marks like that.
A moment later, Duaal realized that just checking which side the thumbprint was on would have told him the same thing, but he was still glowing at his clever discoveries and brilliant deductions. What any of it actually told him, Duaal admitted he didn’t really know. That didn’t make him any less proud of his investigation. He set down his heavy wine and leaned against the Riptide, wondering what to do next.
