Kyra adjusted her robe, rolling her shoulders against the rough material. Riddick had completely ignored the disguise Kyra set aside for him.
"What the hell is all that for?" he'd asked. Kyra looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Haven't you ever heard of camouflage?" she replied, making sure the robe covered the worst of the blood stains. "So, what's the plan?" she asked, changing the subject. Now that they'd landed, it was time to get down to business.
"Get a cheap room while I get rid of this piece of junk and get a better one." Kyra watched as Riddick reached under the main console and gave one of the panels a good whack. It swung open, revealing Toombs' small safe. Riddick pulled a couple wads of cash from inside and tossed the smaller one to Kyra. "Only one night," he said.
"I'll try not to spend it all in one place."
Riddick had set the merc skiff down in the rolling hills outside of Metro Tauri. It was a long walk in the afternoon heat to reach the city, but he didn't want anyone spotting them. Once there, the pair stuck to the shadows, weaving their way through the streets and alleys of the sprawling metropolis. They paused in a quiet square near a fountain.
"Meet me back here at sundown," Riddick said. Kyra nodded. Stuffing her wad of cash into a pocket, she set off in the direction of Metro Tauri's market district in search of a cheap hotel.
She didn't have to look far. Tucked in a little alley just past the market square was a dilapidated, no-tell-motel sort of place that took cash up front, no questions asked. Fine by me. After a quick stop at a nearby second-hand store, she checked in and headed to the room.
Inside, Kyra dropped her purchases on one of the room's two beds and made straight for the bathroom, carefully peeling off her shirt as she went. She turned on the water and kicked off her pants; steam started to fill the room as she set her underwear in the sink to soak. Leaving the rest of her clothes in a heap on the floor, she stepped under the spray.
The hot water coursed over her body, turning a muddy red-brown as it ran toward the drain; Kyra could feel the slickness of the dried blood as it washed off her. There was a soap dispenser attached to the wall, and she pushed the lever. Taking a big handful of the cleanser, she scrubbed at herself viciously. She felt dirty, like the grit and grime had become a part of her – burrowed their way into her very flesh – and it had been a long time since she'd had a chance to wash in relative peace. With deliberate movements, she worked the soap into her skin until she felt raw.
Kyra squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face up to the spray, taking a second to enjoy the warm water. Then, she lathered her hands, working the soap into her tangled hair and over her face. When she figured she'd spent enough time scrubbing, she rinsed off.
Letting out a sigh, Kyra shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped a scratchy white towel around her body and tucked the end between her breasts while idly wiping the fog off the mirror. Kyra glanced at her reflection before running a hand over her face and stepping back into the room. She dug into the sturdy paper bag she'd left on the bed and pulled out a pair of faded jeans and a plain gray top. Leaving her underwear to soak in the bathroom sink, she dropped her towel and twisted her wet hair up off her neck. She quickly pulled on the pants and hissed as the movement pulled at the wound along her ribs. She had hoped it would start to clot again in the shower, but a persistent rivulet of blood still flowed down the scrubbed pink skin of her hip; it needed stitches.
"Dammit," she muttered resignedly. Pressing her towel to her side, she began searching for some first aid supplies.
She found a sewing kit in a nightstand and decided it would have to do. Threading the needle, she tied off the end and paused. She went back into the bathroom and reached into the pocket of her discarded pants, pulling out her stash box.
Kyra inhaled deeply and flipped the lid open. The emptiness of the little tin was depressing, but there was more than enough to get through the job at hand; just a little bump was all she needed.
When the drugs hit her system, she picked up the needle and thread and stitched herself up. It was awkward, and it hurt like hell, but her stitches were relatively small and even – more importantly, they would hold. Done, she cleaned herself up and slipped the top over her head. She considered washing her underwear and decided against it for the moment. They'd still be there when she got back.
Before leaving, Kyra pulled the final item out of the thrift store bag – a cheap pair of sunglasses. She tucked her cigarettes into her left hip pocket, her stash box into her right, and her weapons into their usual spots. Hiding a little bit of the leftover cash in her boot, she grabbed her key card and disappeared into the Metro Taurian afternoon.
Riddick was waiting when Kyra ambled into the small square at dusk. Instantly, he realized something was different. She had new clothes and a battered pair of sunglasses shielding her eyes from the dying sun. But it's more than that. She didn't smell right. Even with the heady aromas of the Metro Tauri market lingering in the air, he could still pick up the scent of sex clinging to her skin.
When Kyra reached the fountain, she grinned wolfishly up at him, peeking over her sunglasses with wild eyes. What had she been up to? Turning the possibilities over in his mind, Riddick followed her out of the square and down the winding streets to their hotel.
Their room was small and stark – two beds, a nightstand between them, and a television mounted high in a corner – but relatively clean. Riddick did a quick search for anything suspicious before ducking into the bathroom for a quick shower. Growling at the mess the kid had left, he kicked her clothes and wet towel out of the way before stripping and stepping under the hot spray. When he emerged back into the bedroom, he found Kyra perched in the room's only window, smoking a cigarette. She had the tv on, flipping channels at random. Ignoring her, he pulled back the coverlet and slid into the bed nearest the door. It had been a long-ass day; all he wanted to do was sleep.
Sleep didn't come. The kid turned off the tv and sat smoking silently for a while, but Riddick was still wide awake. Instead, he watched Kyra as she stared out into the Metro Taurian night. He hadn't had a chance to really look her over. Now, in the dark hotel room, he took in how much she had changed. Her hair was longer – a riot of curls and dreadlocks that she kept twisted or tied up and out of her way. He could tell it was darker than it used to be, too, though he wasn't sure of the color.
The biggest thing Riddick noticed was how the kid had filled out. Definitely not a kid anymore, he thought again, his gaze lingering on the soft curves of her new, grown-up body. Not surprisingly, parts of him responded eagerly to her appearance. Those parts wanted to keep her around for a while, wanted to find out all the other ways she'd changed…
Shoving the thoughts from his mind, Riddick laced his fingers behind his head and spoke. "Where'd you go today?" he asked.
Kyra's head jerked toward the sound of his voice, her shined eyes finding him easily in the dark room. "Um…here?" she replied, a question in her voice.
"You got new clothes," he prompted. And a strange smell.
"I needed them." She flicked her cigarette out into the night and swung her legs back into the room. "You probably do, too," she suggested.
Riddick watched as Kyra slipped all the way inside and shut the window. Then, she disappeared into the bathroom and he heard water running. Apparently, that's all he was going to get. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and finally drifted into a light doze.
When she'd finished washing her clothes, Kyra laid them out to dry as best she could. The bump she'd taken with the sketchy motherfucker who'd sold to her was finally wearing off and the ache was returning to her fresh stitches, but she was starting to feel normal again. She might even be able to sleep.
In the bedroom, she pulled off her boots and lay on the far edge of the second bed. She curled up carefully on her good side and pulled the blankets over her, willing herself to relax. Finally, after almost an hour of lying perfectly still, she was dozing as well.
Riddick woke as the first rays of light slipped between the heavy hotel drapes. He sat up, glancing around for the kid. Kyra was curled up on the other bed, on her side with her back facing the wall. She had one hand tucked under her chin, and her other clutched a knife. He raised an eyebrow. Interesting. Clearing his throat, he gave her mattress a soft nudge.
Kyra opened her eyes, instantly alert. "Morning," she offered, sitting up. Riddick grunted in reply and disappeared into the bathroom. Stretching, Kyra slipped out from under the covers and tugged on her boots. Her knife disappeared into a hidden sheath. Coffee, she thought vaguely. I could really go for some coffee. With a sigh, she put on her sunglasses and opened the window. Perching on the ledge, she lit one of her few remaining cigarettes and waited for Riddick to finish whatever he was doing in the bathroom.
When the door opened, she ducked in behind him to gather her still-damp clothes; her shirt couldn't be saved, but she didn't want to leave DNA behind in case someone came looking for them. She folded the items as best she could and shoved them into the thrift store bag. Then, she looked at Riddick.
"Breakfast?" she asked hopefully. He was gonna dump her off here at some point, but maybe she could at least get some food down her throat before he did. Riddick shrugged and nodded.
The small, greasy-spoon café they chose was near the spaceport. After they were seated, Kyra flagged down a waitress.
"Coffee," she said. "And keep it coming."
The waitress nodded and filled a chipped, heavy porcelain cup with something that looked more like mud than coffee. Kyra didn't care – after years in prison, it smelled and tasted heavenly.
After they ordered, Riddick found himself studying Kyra as she examined the cracked laminate tabletop and gulped her coffee.
"Wanna tell me about Jack Junior?" he asked finally, sipping from his own cup of the muddy brew. He'd read everything he could find on the internet, but he wanted to hear it from her.
Kyra glanced up from the table. "No," she said swallowing a sip of coffee. Riddick raised an eyebrow at her. After a beat of silence, she continued. "It's none of your goddamn business."
Okay. He supposed he would have to try again later.
"How long have you had the shine?" he asked, after a moment.
"Does it matter?" she shot back, then sighed. "A few years. I dug up this vet about a month after they locked me up. I was broke, but he was willing to accept my…ah…skills as payment for the surgery."
Riddick felt his stomach clench, and there was an unfamiliar pang in his chest. He didn't want to think about what skills the kid meant, though he was pretty damn sure he knew.
At that moment, their food arrived. Riddick waited until the waitress had left them alone and the kid started eating before continuing the conversation.
"He fucked it up," he said, liberally salting his hash browns.
"Yeah." Kyra shrugged and took a large bite of her eggs. "I can still see, though. Could be worse."
They ate in silence for a while – Riddick contemplating their conversation, Kyra just engrossed in her food. Until – "What color are your eyes?" he asked, gesturing with his fork.
Kyra paused, confused. "Blue," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "At least, they were. Before." He nodded, and they returned to their meals.
"Done?" he asked finally, setting his silverware on his plate and leaning back in their booth. She looked up at him, mopping the last bits of egg and bacon up with a piece of burnt toast.
"Yeah," she replied, her mouth full.
He nodded again and drained his coffee cup. "Let's get outta here." Riddick stood. "Make sure you've got all your shit," he added, adjusting his goggles over his eyes. Tossing a handful of cash on the table, he strode out of the cafe. Kyra followed, grabbing her paper bag and settling her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose.
The two moved silently through the crowded streets to Metro Tauri's impressive spaceport. Neither spoke until they were strolling past the long lines of ships.
"I gotta see someone," Riddick said, stopping and glancing around. "I'll be back. Stay here." Then he disappeared into the shadows of the docks.
Kyra made a rude noise. Yeah, right. Rolling the top of her bag closed, she tucked it under her arm and casing the ships nearest her. If Riddick was ready to leave, she supposed it was about time she kick off, too. Ignoring the tiny flare of disappointment, she started looking around for a ship that could handle a stowaway.
She kept to the shadows as she moved quietly among the docks. She read the names on the berth screens as she passed and wondered vaguely about the stories behind them. Athena, Quicksilver, Royal Blue. The name of the ship didn't matter, really, but reading them amused her.
She was examining the cargo hatch on a small, personal transporter called the Runaway, when she heard a noise behind her. Instantly, Kyra melted into the darkness of the docks, sliding a shiv from a sheath on her thigh. She waited. Then she heard it again – the quiet scuff of a boot on metal. Forcing herself to breathe evenly, she listened, gripping her knife so hard her knuckles turned white. Just as she was about to cut and run from whoever was out there, a muscled arm snaked around her shoulders and yanked her back against a familiar chest.
"Shh," Riddick's deep voice whispered past her ear. Goddammit! He'd scared the shit out of her. Kyra yanked herself out of his grasp but kept silent. Slipping her shiv back into its sheath, she turned to face him. Now what?
"I told you to stay."
"I'm not a dog."
"I said I'd be back."
"And I was supposed to believe you? You don't have a great history of follow through."
He snapped. Shoving Kyra up against one of the spaceport canopy's support pillars and pressed his body flush against hers to keep her still. "This shit ends now," he growled in her ear. "I did what I had to, to keep you safe. It's not my fault you ran off. That's all on you, kid; stop blaming me." He paused, stepping back but keeping his grip on her arms. "And if you're gonna stay with me, you need to learn to listen. You need to trust me."
Kyra gaped. He wasn't leaving her? He actually wanted her to stay? That was new. Maybe she should cut him some slack. But how could she trust him after what he did? After he left her without even saying goodbye?
Riddick released his grip on her arms and turned away from her, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Growling, he started moving down the alley again. He listened to make sure Kyra was following behind him but didn't speak. Eventually, the two stopped next to a small, older-looking ship. Cocking her head to one side, Kyra examined it.
"Not exactly state of the art," she observed, cautiously walking toward the side hatch and peering into the darkness inside.
"It's what I could afford," Riddick rumbled, moving around her and through the hatch. Following him inside, Kyra allowed herself to look around.
The ship definitely looked its age, but it had been well cared for; the equipment she could see looked up-to-date and the control panel had been redone in a more modern style at some point in the last five years. Riddick sat in the pilot's chair on the bridge and flipped the controls that closed the hatch, making Kyra start slightly. Lighting up the main COMM panel, he began running updates and codes to check the current condition of the ship.
Uninterested in the pre-flight procedures, Kyra explored the rest of the craft. Behind her was a short corridor with two doors on the right wall. Opening the first, she found a small, sparse cabin. Two bunks were attached to the far wall, the top one folded up and secured. A nightstand stood next to the lower bed, bolted to the floor, with a small reading lamp attached to its top. There was also a good-sized cabinet against the wall near the door. Curious, Kyra opened the cabinet doors, finding hangers and drawers for clothes.
There was another door on the far side of the armoire, already open. Kyra poked her head in and saw a minuscule bathroom with a chemical toilet, a shower stall, and a vanity. The door on the far side opened into a cabin that mirrored the first. Figuring Riddick might want the room closer to the flight deck, she crossed the bathroom and dropped her bag on the floor near the bed.
After taking a quick look around her cabin, Kyra continued down the hall to the small galley. The rectangular room had a bank of cabinets and counters in the corner directly opposite the door. A cooling unit took up space on the far wall, along with a molded plastic booth for dining. She made an appreciative sound at the up-to-date appliances, poked around a bit in the well-stocked cupboards, and glanced at the food prep machine. Nodding in approval, she made her way back to the front of the ship. On the bridge, Kyra glanced around for the engine room access hatch; she wanted to see what kind of power this thing had. After a moment, she spotted a ladder on the far side of the room leading below and headed down.
When Kyra reached the bottom, she found herself in a large, empty cargo bay. Glancing around the vast expanse of the hold, she noticed four cryotubes against one wall, tucked next to three massive tanks – one for clean water, one for gray, and one for waste. A few quick taps revealed that the gray and waste water tanks were empty; the clean water sounded relatively full. Next, Kyra checked the fuel cells and was pleased to find that they were all fully charged. She wondered idly how much extra Riddick had paid to make sure the ship was ready to leave in a hurry. She supposed he could have just killed the previous owner, but murder was messy. And we did just break out of prison.
Continuing her exploration, Kyra allowed her eyes to drift around the rest of the cargo bay. She noted a large medical locker with a portable medical scanner near the main hatch, which would definitely come in handy when it was time to remove her stitches. Then, toward the rear of the hold, she spotted a large red and white warning sign: Caution. Engine Room. Authorized Personnel Only. She almost ran across the room and hit the button to open the pneumatic door. Barely able to contain her excitement, she stepped through as it hissed open.
Inside, Kyra let out a low whistle of appreciation as she surveyed the ship's engine. I take back anything bad I said about you, she thought. This was a thing of beauty. The powerful fuel-injection thrusters were capable of cranking out over 40 million horsepower – more than enough to break free of even the heaviest atmosphere – and the ion drives for anti-gravity maneuvering looked almost brand new. The cryotubes in the hold meant no grav drive, but Kyra spotted a port to hook one up. After her last couple experiences with cryo, even the work of installing the drive and converting the ship for interstellar hops had a certain appeal.
Eventually, Kyra tore herself away from the engine and quickly searched the rest of the room. A large wall cabinet revealed an extensive set of tools, and a stack of crates next to it held enough spare parts to cover most basic repairs. There was also an incinerator that utilized the engine's combustion reaction to dispose of trash. She made a mental note to get rid of her ruined shirt as soon as possible.
Finally, she climbed back up to the bridge. She saw that Riddick was still running checks on the ship's systems and cleared her throat to get his attention.
Without turning in his chair, he growled at her. "What?"
"I need a few things," she said. He raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. "I'm going out," she tried again.
Riddick was aware of Kyra shifting anxiously behind him as he waved her toward the side hatch. "Be back in an hour," he rumbled. Dismissing her, he entered a code and started a run-up on the auxiliary drive. A few more lights blinked on.
"Uh-huh," Kyra muttered, already compiling a list in her head; she'd have to move quick to make it back in time. Opening the door, she nearly sprinted down the ramp and toward the marketplace.
Not bothering to look up, Riddick grunted after her, then hit a few buttons and flipped a switch to close the hatch behind her.
When the kid was finally gone, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose; having someone else around all the time was getting to him. He was used to being on his own – suddenly, there was a new smell, a new set of sounds to get used to. It crossed his mind for a moment that he didn't have to take her – that he could just leave her here and let her find her own way. She was all grown up now; she didn't need the Big Bad to protect her. Hell, she was a Big Bad in her own right. But just as soon as it entered his head, the thought was gone. She belonged with him, in some weird, sick way. It's how it's supposed to be, he thought and forced any other questions from his mind.
After checking the progress of the sys check and drive run-ups, Riddick stood and moved toward the rear of the ship. He went through the first door on his right and made his way to the bunk without stopping to look around the cabin. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he forced his body to relax. He was all tied up in knots.
The ship had been expensive. The merc skiff hadn't brought as much as Riddick hoped, and he'd been forced to dip into the remains of Toombs' stash – especially to get it fully stocked. Just stealing the thing would have been so much easier, but at least they were getting off this planet; there were too many damn people here.
Lying back on the bed, Riddick closed his eyes and felt all of his muscles slowly loosen; the tension slipped away for the moment, and he felt sleep stealing over him. Let the scans run, he thought absently. I'll check 'em in a bit.
Kyra juggled her shopping bags and struggled to hit the button that she hoped opened the ship's main hatch. When she heard the whirr of the ramp lowering, she grinned.
"Yes," she breathed victoriously and walked into the darkness of the hold.
Inside the ship, she shifted her bags again to climb the ladder to the main deck; right away, she could tell Riddick wasn't there. After taking a moment to push her sunglasses up on her head, she started down the hall. In her cabin, Kyra set her burden down on the bunk, then relaxed her arms and sighed. She took a moment to rest and pulled her stash tin out of her pocket; her buzz was fading, and she didn't know when she'd get a moment to herself again. Licking the coarse grains from her wet fingertip, she judged the cabinet to her left, mentally unpacking her purchases.
When her things were put away, Kyra tore open a thin cardboard package she'd set on the nightstand. Cigarettes. Real, honest-to-God cigarettes. Kyra pulled out a single pack – her first in over three years – and idly tapped the top of it against the heel of her hand, packing the cigarettes inside. Walking toward the ladder down into the cargo hold, she pulled off the foil and cellophane wrapping. In the hold, Kyra moved to sit at the top of the open hatch as she gently shook a single cigarette loose. Taking it between her lips, she popped a match on her thumbnail, relishing the bitter smell of burning sulfur. She carefully cupped the small flame and brought it to her. Inhaling slowly, she watched as the end of the cigarette caught. She took the first drag and shook the match out. Exhaling a sigh of contentment, Kyra leaned back on her elbows and smiled.
Updated: 2-12-18