Disclaimer: I own nothing in allusion to The Chronicles of Riddick universe. A sad fact, but true. The only things that belong to me are parts of the plot, and my character Sabrina Kurigawa. Mr. David Twohy owns the Riddick-Universe, and Mr. Vin Diesel owns the character Riddick. He really does own it. Especially in my head. He owns it over, and over, and ov- ahem So yeah... Bon appétit!
P.S.: This is the first time I have ever attempted to write in strict first person P.O.V. format, so be gentle and please, PLEASE give me lots and lots of feedback!
The Chronicles of Riddick:
The Last Matriarch
by Mary Beth Beatty
with much inspiration from Damien Killcannon Vryce
Chapter One: Really Bad Day
Goddamnit! Why would they close the fucking garage just because some stupid, public transport was docking for repairs? Those take up way more time than I have! I mean, everyone knows how slow they are. Good-for-nothing, lousy fuckers!
"Why don't you try the Ankorhead?" The boy unwisely interrupted my mental tirade, then swallowed hard. His face was priceless as he stared at me in disbelief and fear, "You could get a drink while you wait?" He gulped before continuing, "This could take a while..." You could say that again, boy. Bollocks, this was not my day. The second I woke up this morning I knew that this was not going to be my day. And I sometimes hate it when my gut is always right.
I raised the shaded goggles I was wearing to rest on my forehead, pushing my hair back some, and I let my eyes bore into him. He merely shrugged, looking completely helpless. After all, there wasn't really anything he could do, he was just an attendant. I shouldn't be taking my anger out on him. I sighed and shook my head softly.
My fists and my jaw were clenching and unclenching and when I looked up, the strappy, little grease-monkey swallowed hard, again, and closed his eyes. No doubts fearing I might take a swing at him. I couldn't help but chuckle a little. I wasn't gonna hit him, but I did settle for punching the service desk. I couldn't stop another chuckle as the action made him nearly jump out of his own skin.
I will give the kid mondo brownie points. He's got at least some sort of back-bone. I may be a woman, but I've been told on many occasions that I can be more threatening than the Devil himself when I'm pissed. And here this kid was, standing his ground... Sort of.
My anger and frustration was warranted, though. I needed off this fucking planet and I needed it yesterday. Goddamnit!
When I spoke next, I didn't even try to hide my sarcasm, "Thanks a lot, kid!"
I gingerly released his shirt, which apparently I'd gripped onto with a vengeance the instant he'd told me I couldn't get inside to my baby. I even helped steady him back on his feet. Who says I'm nothing but an uber-bitch? Well... Anyone who's ever met me, probably. I tightened my hold on the pack on my back and let out a frustrated sigh. I turned to leave and proceeded to curse under my breath as I exited the garage.
The street outside was bustling with speeders and all sorts of people traveling in and out of shops and booths, buying up anything and everything they could find. Merchants of many different levels of shadiness littered the crowded street. It was like a zoo. This city was always crazy it seemed. Good for the citizens I guess... Bad for me. I hate crowds. Not because I'm anti-social or anything, mind you. But because of this damned predatory sense of mine. The more people, the more possible threats, the more scenarios and escape plans I can't stop thinking of, the higher the body count could be, and the more ways to kill that my mind likes to think up almost on its own. Like a computer spewing out autonomous digital code just because that's what it does.
The wind was blowing pretty hard today. It was a warm current, understandable for this time of year. It made the hairs on my arms stand on end and I shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the breeze.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine coming on. Never a good sign. I didn't have the time for these delays. I needed to get the hell out of here! I took a deep breath trying to calm my nerves. I reached up and plaited my hair to hang like a long, raven-black rope down past my lower back. The act managed to calm me some. As messy as the cut of my hair was due to many years of personal maintenance, several strands stuck out giving me a sort of tussled look. The wind didn't help much in that regard either, but at least I no longer had almost four feet of hair whipping all over my face.
I glanced up the street in the direction I knew the bar the kid spoke of to be. I've been to this backwater spaceport enough times to know of its existence. I never brought myself to actually go inside before, but I know I've passed by it a few times. The Ankorhead. The name alone could have several different meanings, none of which ever seemed all that appealing. I tended to avoid places like that like the plague. Definitely not the crowd you want to be around in my line of work. But I needed a place to lay low until I could get to my baby. Not to mention, I could use a drink right about now.
I sighed and reigned myself to the inevitable. I lowered the shaded goggles from my forehead over my eyes and approached my second baby. Esmerelda, or Esmé as I liked to call her. She was one hell-cat of a motor-speeder. A classic, beauty. Black with red accents, and chrome-steel parts. Very reminiscent of the chopper motorcycles of Old Earth, or so Sunny had said. Sunny Pontieri knew this kind of stuff, so I wasn't one to question him. Besides I had no reason to question him, this baby rode like a dream and roared like a panther. I slid the security ignition pin into the slot and the screen at the handles flashed on. I pressed my thumb against the lower right corner then punched in a twelve digit code. I'm a firm believer that there's no such thing as too many security precautions when it comes to me and mine.
With a firmly and clearly spoken, "Fire it up, baby," voice recognition, the last of my security measures, the engines fired on and the wheels slowly disappeared up into its apparatus. I revved the engine a couple times while I once again glanced in the bar's direction. It was a couple miles away from the garage. I hated to be that far from my true destination, and my real beauty, but it was alcohol, or going stir-crazy waiting for that transport ship to finish. Stir-crazy and me didn't mix. Those were moments when I tended to get dagger-happy.
I parked Esmé just outside the bar and waited for the wheels to touch ground before turning the engines off, then restored all of her security protocols. My boots thudded softly as I stepped up to the entrance. I had to slide my shades back up my forehead to do a thorough speculation of the building. I'd never been this close to it before. I gave the outside a quick glance over and realized it appeared much less dingy from a distance. Up close it was nothing more than just another dirty space-dive. Frequented only by tramps, mercs, smugglers... and locals. Augh! God could there be anything worse? Tramps and smugglers I suppose I could put up with. Mercs were no better than Cons in my opinion. But locals? I couldn't stop another sigh escaping my mouth... I seemed to be doing that a lot lately... My nerves were already running thin today, I didn't need to find something to add to it.
In the end, however, my desperation for something to drink beat out any sense of loathing I might have held for the place and its custom, so I pushed open the door... And immediately was overwhelmed with a cacophony of foul smells. Stale liquor, thick smoke, and a very strong, very pungent underlying stench of body odor and... Well... Sex. Yep, this placed reeked very heavily of sex. But considering the type of place it was, the location, and the pulsating atmosphere, I didn't find that all too surprising. But that didn't mean I wanted to stay here long enough to find out the cause.
A vibrant, pulsating beat played in the background, threatening to actually be music. I hated the place already and I've only been here for the lesser part of five minutes. Still, I guess as far as local jives go, it was maybe one of the better. At least fecal matter and urine didn't decorate the floors and walls. And it even had a large vid-screen that was buzzing on about 20 feet away, just behind the bar.
I walked directly to a barstool, noticed a mucusey substance coating the seat and moved about four stools away before I sat down. The counter was low, and my legs are long, but still I managed to cross them. I leaned forward with crossed arms against the bar counter. The tender had an eye patch, taking that whole space pirate thing a little too far if you ask me. But, hey! To each his own, right? He appeared to be cleaning a glass with what was obviously a dirty rag... Well... Guess I should thank him for narrowing my alcoholic choices for me. Bottled beer it would be.
With silent hand motions I indicated for him to bring me a bottle. The one eyed scalawag placed a bottle of something called "Malignant X" in front of me and popped the cap, "Four creds, Missy..." It was obvious he hadn't brushed his teeth in Gods know how long.
I handed him the untagged creds without complaint, but if Captain Black Tooth decides to call me Missy one more time... Well... Let's just say no one likes it when I find reason to complain... I took a small sip... Then another... It was a little bitter, but it would suffice. As long as I kept on sipping it would be fine. I never could really understand the appeal people saw in beer. Give me a bottle of Earthen Vodka, or a nice Spiced Rum! Or better still, a good, stout Whiskey! Now that's good drinking!
"Never seen ya in here 'efore, Missy... Where ya from?" the accent was fake I could tell, even without the fact that no one out this far carried that accent.
I paused mid-sip and took a breath in. I turned to glare at the man as I slowly removed one of my twin daggers from its custom sheath on my wrist. A bone handled hunting bowie, 12.5 inches long handle to tip, blade coated in black Teflon, serrated wickedly down one side and through the center of the blade. Even in an amateur's hand it was threatening. I started picking my nails with it. The Cap's solo-bared eye widened for a moment. I didn't suppress my grin as I inspected the cleanliness of my fingertips.
"Oh, I'm just... Passing through..." the tender nodded and left me alone. Smart man.
Now, though the man had had my minimal attention for a short time, suddenly my senses tweaked out. I can imagine very much like an animal responding when its name is called, my ears perked and I lifted my head when the music-video on the screen was taken over by a man in a very formal looking suit.
"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this breaking news brief..." I couldn't look up at the screen... I didn't want to appear too interested... The man in the brown suit paused and because I wasn't focusing on the screen I didn't see the picture of an olive skinned, blue eyed man with a military-cut hairstyle and very defined cheekbones appear in the upper right corner.
The man then continued, "Vigilante, Jareth Undertow-" that got my attention and my nostrils flared, though only slightly, and I just took another sip, "-notorious for his cruel if not indecent methods of law enforcement and so-called 'peacekeeping', was found only hours ago... Murdered." Fuck! I was supposed to be on my ship and at least a good hundred or so light-years out before they even found the body... Bodies...
"According to Officials it appeared as if his heart had been cut violently from his chest and he'd been left for dead along with over a dozen of the men on his payroll. The details are still sketchy at this point and officials so far have no suspects..." Of course they have no suspects, who do they think I am? Some sort of amateur? Now, it was just to make sure it stayed that way! And I was now regretting flashing Francis around a little earlier, but only a little.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't nervous, I never get nervous. I do, however tend to get rather antsy and I find it hard to stop myself from biting my lip, or even playing with a lock of my hair. Sure on the outside I may look no more than the cool, casual, flirty spaceport gal, enjoying a drink. But on the inside... My mind was on overdrive... I was on full alert, and I couldn't stop my senses from going crazy. My mind raced through a hundred possible scenarios, and another hundred escape plans on top of that as I sat remembering every possible exit, every face around me... And still all the while the man on the screen drolled on.
"Citizens are unsure how to feel about the news at this point. Is Undertow's death really an atrocity, or could it be a blessing? Should we fear those who killed him? Or praise them? We go now to Anoxia Barrage in the field... Anoxia?" "Those who killed him"? So they think I'm more than one... That could work to my advantage.
The screen now showed a woman in a red dress standing in front of a building with official-looking people and yellow tape in the background. Why did they always use yellow tape? If it's a crime scene shouldn't they use Red tape or something? Yellow means, "Caution," not, "Get the fuck away!" I never understood that... "Thank you, Tom."
The rest of the broadcast just droned on and I had to phase it out. There were too many things to think of. I was going over every detail of the events in my head. I recalled everything, even the most minute of details. Everything right down to my exit through the maze of tunnels beneath the club; that none knew of, save for Jareth, a few select others(who happened to now all be dead), and myself. It was all flashing through my mind. I had to make positive I didn't leave anything out.
I have no file save for the fake one I use for docking purposes. Don't ask me why I have no records, because I honestly couldn't tell you. There's a lot about me that even I don't understand. A lot of missing years and memories. All I know is that, whoever I was, wherever I came from, why I can do the things I can, someone had gone to extreme and maybe sadistic measures to make sure no one knew of my existence. So I guess, technically, according to the entire known galaxy, I'm nothing... I don't exist... I am truly a ghost... A shadow in the dark... The hairs prickling on the back of your neck... A voice that could seem to be everywhere, yet nowhere at once.
The bar doors suddenly slid open and by instinct my head whipped to the entrance where a team of mercenaries mixed with soldiers in heavy armour, equipped with some pretty serious artillery, were making their way inside. I knew better, I had trained harder and thus, never once did anything show on the outside, but inside my heart rate picked up a little. Not out of fear mind you. It would be a long freezing day in hell before I'd ever be scared of these jerk-offs. But my beast, that inner animal co-existing inside me, was raring for a fight, and by how close these ass-holes were, and knowing that which they were most likely searching for, it sensed a battle in the air and was practically salivating at the prospect.
This was too risky... I had to stifle this predator and do it now. I took a very slow, very steady, very deep breath, and gave myself a mental pep talk. 'Calm down, girl... They couldn't possibly be looking for you... They're probably just getting a drink... Easy now... Just breathe...'
The captain of the guard approached the owner and I brought the bottle to my lips and took another drink, capably focusing my senses to hear their conversation... And it took just as much skill to keep myself from spitting the mouthful of liquid right back out! They knew a lot more than they should!
Fuck! How the hell had they-? This can't be happening... Goddamnit! Not now... After everything I've done, after everything that bastard had tried to put me through. Who would have ever thought my untimely, and undeserved visit to slam would be caused by a single fucking strand of hair? God-fucking-damnit! A hair found in the grip of Undertow's hand no less?! Stupid pervert did have a fetish for my hair, touched it whenever he could!
So, that's why the entire city was on a lockdown. There was no docking ship. They were holding everyone, everything. And if they really did get one of my hairs, they were probably looking for very long, raven black, and depending if the root was intact, female... Probably looking for someone traveling alone... Just to question them, of course... Hyeah right!
Fuck! How could I have been so stupid as to let him touch me! I should've known! They shouldn't have found anything! Goddamnit, Brin! When had I started to get so fucking careless?
I had to make it out of here, and fast! I have an almost photographic memory, so while the whole conversation between the soldier and the tender was going on, I was once again recalling exits. The front door, guarded by five of these brutes, out of the question. The back door would undoubtedly be covered just as heavy... Damn place had no windows... Air ducts? Air ducts! One of them has to lead somewhere away from here!
I glanced around, searching for a way to get outside, to the anchorage, my ship within, and then further out of the system. Do all of that without anyone seeing me.
It took all of but two seconds before I saw where one of the ducts overhead lead. No doubts a small ventilation shaft that looked like I would barely fit inside even if I didn't breathe, but it was my only way. As far as I could see it leads directly into the woman's restroom. Maybe all my luck hadn't run out just yet.
I shouldered my bag, and casually made my way to the restroom door before the tender had, had a chance to point me out to the soldiers. I moved casually slow. I couldn't draw any unwanted attention to myself, friendly or otherwise. I was just a girl needing to attend to a call of nature... Riiight!
I grinned at a passing man before stepping inside. The bathroom itself was disgusting. Looked as though it hadn't been cleaned since the day the bar opened. Yeesh! I ignored the will to gag and looking up, I nearly eeped in delight when I saw the duct over one of the stalls. The urge was very unlike myself, but the prospect of getting out of there unnoticed and therefore unscathed was making me slightly giddy with anticipation. I'm never giddy...
I stood on the toilet, careful not to slip on any of the disgusting greenish brown goo on the lid. The grate to the ventilation was screwed on tight. Now, granted, I could have very easily just knocked it out, but my point here was to not attract attention to what I was doing. So I instead pulled the small retractable knife from my boot and ever so gently unscrewed the grate. I couldn't stop from grimacing as the years worth of rusted metal made a soft squelching noise as it broke apart. I quickly glanced to the doorway, no sign anyone was coming. So far, so good. I gripped onto the edge of the opening and slowly hoisted myself up into the duct. The grate cover made another soft noise as I slid it back into place.
My senses flared again and my eyes widened. I barely managed to back away and pull my legs to my chest, as the restroom door opened and two of those beefy soldiers stepped inside.
How the hell did I end up in this situation?