Riddick

When I finally make it back to the Holy Man's home, I'm met at the second-floor window by an angry widow, and her carving knife. This is a great way to start this search, threatened with a carving knife. I side step just enough to be hidden by her curtains from street view, and I hold my hands up in surrender.

"Put the knife down, Lajjun. You could hurt someone with that." I don't make a move toward her, though. Desperate women are dangerous. Especially desperate mothers. "I'm not here to hurt anyone."

She makes a disbelieving noise. "What have you wrought upon us this time, demon?" The knife tip raises, gesturing slightly as she demands answers. "What fresh hell have you brought with you? Earthquakes? Floods? What?"

"You've got it all wrong, Lajjun." I start to lower my hands, confident that she won't try to shiv me. "I didn't bring anything. I just came for information. Like I did before." She's not buying it. Her heart is hammering so hard that I can hear it from here. Instead of waiting for this to break, I lunge, grabbing her wrist before she can react. Pulling Lajjun close, I pry the knife from her fingers. At first, she struggles, hitting me weakly in the chest with her free fist, but then, she lets off a broken sob.

I don't pretend to understand what she's feeling. In fact, as she tries to compose herself, I watch out the window, as a four-man unit of Company men patrol down the street. They hadn't pursued me too hard, I realize, watching them amble past. Which means they devoted far more of their man-power to following Nim. An unfamiliar rock settles in my stomach and I push Lajjun away.

"Why is the Company here?" It's my turn to demand answers.

She looks out the window, startled, maybe even confused. "They are bolstering our military, while we rebuild. Our city, our whole planet, was decimated.." She trails off, unwilling to relive those terrifying nights. In the silence that lands, I gently put the knife off to one side, my eyes out the window. Because I'm watching for her, I see Ziza dart out from an alley, and sprint up the street, ducking into and locking the front door.

I start moving even before the child starts calling my name. That rock in my stomach just gets heavier. I refuse to put a name to the feeling. The child is frantic and out of breath when I meet her in the den. She grabs my arms, and gasps and starts, but never manages to make a word. My temper swirls angrily, but I bite back the urge to smack her. Mostly because Lajjun looms on the stairs behind me, instinctively protective of her child. Finally, Ziza manages to get something worthwhile out.

"They took her!"

I know instantly who she means. The Company has Nim. The people I saved her from. The ones who've kept her on ice so often, for so long, that the cryo-serum makes her sick. That rock in the pit of my stomach goes from red hot, to ice cold. And I look back to Lajjun.

"Where's the Company operating out of?" I ask the mother, even as she finishes descending the stairs, and comes to draw her daughter away from me. "Where's the base?"

For a moment, Lajjun thinks. My hand curls loosely into a fist, willing this to go faster. Ziza pulls free of her mother's grasp, and stands between the two of us, shifting uneasily. But as the silence grows deeper, I know there's no hope of an answer. Finally, as the urge to hit something rises, Lajjun shakes her head slightly. "I... am sorry. I do not know."

Ziza makes some kind of sound, a desperate sad one. I close my eyes, trying hard to think. I won't leave her behind. The prospect of facing the black alone isn't as appealing as it used to be. I'm getting soft as I get older. The answer is plain as can be. It's worked for me before; it'll work again.

"Ziza, find rope." She only hesitates a moment before darting off into the house. "We need to make this look good. How are your acting skills?"

When she smiles, I realize just how much satisfaction she's about to get from the new few minutes. When Ziza returns with a sturdy length of braided rope, Lajjun steps into her kitchen and returns with a heavy cast iron pan. I sigh softly. This is gonna hurt. I don't brace myself for the blow when it comes, and Lajjun sends me sprawling to the floor with the frying pan of all things. Instinct fights against the darkness creeping in at the edge of my senses. Their voices get further and further away...

"You have to forgive him, Mama. He tried to save Papa, I know he did."

"That is not good enough."

"But, Mama... it should be..."

For once, the darkness is complete. I don't remember hearing anything, seeing anything, or feeling anything. Some part of me is aware that time passes, aware of the steady pounding throb in my head. But it isn't until the shackles weigh my arms down, and a rough laugh sharpens the pain in my head, that awareness fully returns to my senses.

A slight shift of my arms tells me what I already knew. Standard issue cuffs. Nothing fancy, no electrocution parameters, no additional drug-apparatus weight. Before I open my eyes, I take a long, slow breath in. Cigar smoke. Expensive stuff. Borrowed, though, or probably gifted, because his aftershave is cheap and stringent. Wait a minute, I know that reek. My past is just swinging around in the open for anyone to take a shot at, apparently.

"Well, well, well." If the aftershave hadn't made me sure, the voice certainly does. Too much alcohol, too many smokes, Corporal Marcus Danforth hasn't been taking good care of himself. "If it isn't Richard B. Riddick, himself. Done in by a housewife, and a frying pan."

Yeah, he's having entirely too much fun with that. I open my eyes slowly, expecting to be blinded by an interrogation room. The dimly lit interior of a transport actually surprises me.

"What? No parading me around, this time?" My sweet tone doesn't go over well, and I'm back-handed before I can even blink. He doesn't hit me hard enough to draw blood, the pussy.

"You're smarter than this, Richie. We trained you smarter than this. So what's your game? What's your angle this time? Last time you let us catch up to you, you dropped a parasite on troop transport that nearly killed half our active resources."

"Only half? I'm slipping." I know this is a charming grin. It's worked before. But Danforth's not buying. I can see his scowl plain as day, before he turns away.

"You have no weapons. You have no gear. There will be no infestation this time. So, you must be after something." Danforth paces, giving me enough of a glimpse into the cockpit to see that we are traveling. I can't read the destination on the nav. "Save us the trouble of torturing you, and just tell me what it is now?"

"The girl. Where is she?" I don't waste time.

Danforth is the perfect example of a Company man. He's clean, well-groomed, and carefully poised. But surprise registers on his face. "The Grant girl? All this, for a piece of ass? Please, Richie, you can do better than that. Honestly, even if she is great in the sack, she's not worth getting yourself captured o-"

He trails off when he turns back to me. Because I'm growling, and glaring. Nim is far more than any of that to me. She has a chance of surviving with me. He watches me for a few long minutes, before waving me off.

"Obstinate as ever. You never did follow orders well." He stops at the door, filling the frame with his body. "Forget her. She'll forget you inside of eight hours."

My blood runs cold, as the hydraulics hiss and the door shuts between us. Closing my eyes, I will Nim to hang on just a little longer. Grinding my teeth, I start with my right arm, popping the shoulder joint out of socket, and working my hands around before me. She'll hang on. She's my tough girl, my survivor.