VIII. The Sparrow

I had never seen a real, live sparrow before. It was my first stint in juvie, and I was belligerently thirteen.

My section's eating the usual slop they call lunch, when out of nowhere, this puny brown thing comes whizzing through the mess hall. It flies frantically from one side to the other, little wings whirring like an over-wound toy, then hits one wall and just--drops. The drone of bored conversation never falters. No one seems to notice, or care.

At the bell, we all line up like the obedient boys we pretend to be, to file back through the hall to the dorms. The sparrow's lying quiet on the tiles next to the door. I kneel down, pretending to tie my shoe, and I grab it. And this tiny, warm body--it quivers in my hand all the way back to my room.

When my roommate Teo asks me what I'm going to do with the bird, I hit him. Then I set the sparrow down on my cot as gently as I can. Like any good juvie resident, I've got some food stashed away. An apple and an old, stale bun. I set them next to it, but the bird doesn't move; it just lies there, panting, on the sheet. I ladle a handful of water from the sink, but it doesn't drink, either.

I went to sleep that night cupping it in my hand to keep it warm. When I woke up, it was dead.

I flushed it down the toilet. When Teo asked me why, I hit him again.

A whole fucking planet full of goddamn holy rollers, Riddick thought. The heat was suffocating, and the bodies pressed around him didn't help. His credit chip was tucked safely away from the thieving hands that even this pilgrim planet would undoubtedly have, but he still didn't feel safe. He may have looked at first glance like nothing more than a tourist, but there was the pet to worry about. Imam had thrown a scarf and shawl over her as soon as he could, but a good look would tell anyone exactly what she was.

They hadn't gone far when Riddick felt Kat jerk away behind him.

He glared over his shoulder to tell the pet to keep up--just in time to see someone shove her into an alleyway. Bodies pushed at him from all sides as he shoved his way savagely through, trying to get at her. Goddamn it, don't these people have a concept of personal fucking space?

He shouldered three people violently aside before the rest of the mob moved out of his way. Sensing scores of eyes on his back, Riddick knew they would most definitely not be staying here any longer than necessary. Someone might decide to tail them, and he knew his own mug was far from forgettable.

Not knowing what to expect, he stepped carefully around the corner into the alley. There was Kat, hastily retying the scarf over her head. He caught her from behind, holding her wrists tight enough to feel them pop.

"Going somewhere?"

She stiffened, and he saw a minute smear of blood tracing her jaw at the edge of the scarf. "Can we please just get out of here?" she whispered. There was blood on her fingertips, too. She was trembling.

Riddick cast a long look at Kat, then at the body stuffed artlessly under a pile of rubbish in the alleyway, then nodded.

Sitting stiffly in the copilot's seat while Riddick made a few calculations, Kat slowly made her way through one of the books Riddick had brought from Janus. They had left New Mecca two days behind them, and he had yet to break the silence. She'd never thought the rustle of a turning page could be so loud.

"You want to tell me what happened back there?"

Kat dropped her book when she heard Riddick's voice. It was a low rumble, almost too low to understand, and it seemed to come from everywhere at once. From the deck under her feet, from the pages in the book, from the canned air the old ship recycled endlessly.

The heat of the collar intensified as it pressed close around her neck. She stared down at her hands, unable to look at him. She knew what she'd see, anyway--had seen it often enough already. All her previous owners had known what they were buying; had simply resold her when she became more trouble than she was worth. But Riddick had fallen into her ownership, and she hadn't told him anything. There would be no mere passing her off to someone else, not this time.

"Cat got your tongue, Spots? What the hell happened?" She fisted her hands, unable to look him in the eye. "Someone grabbed themselves a little pet, is that it?" Riddick growled.

Kat nodded. She could still smell the hashish on the strange man's hands, could still feel those hands ripping off her scarf. He'd smiled greedily--an ugly, toothless grin--when he'd seen her spotted hair.

"So how'd the little pet come out of that alleyway with blood on her hands?"

"I..."

He rose, pulling her up by her hair to face him. Tears flooded her eyes. "Where'd that body under that trash heap come from? I know fresh death when I see it." She moaned when he shook her, shutting her eyes against the two cold, narrowed glints that seemed sharp enough to cut. He shook her again. "Come to think of it," he drawled, "how the hell did a pet wind up in the only coffin on that skiff?"

Kat closed her eyes and wished she were still back in the skiff, still safely in stasis. She swallowed the fear in her throat. It made a cold lump in her stomach.

"You've been holding out on me, pet." He shook her again.

"Stop! Please!" She gave him her hand, claws extended. Drops of yellowish fluid glistened at the tips. "I wasn't made as a plaything."

"What is this?" Riddick growled, staring at her fingertips.

"V-venom. I was supposed to be a bodyguard, but the buyer reneged. There's a market for toys like me, though. Dangerous enough to excite, but safely collared." She spat the last word out bitterly.

When she continued, it was in a quieter voice. "My last owner was the head geologist. He and the last two members of the team asked me... they asked me to... It was quicker and easier than what the monsters offered." She gave a short laugh. "That expedition was supposed to pay for me."

"You expect me to believe that you got from the coring room to the skiff by yourself?"

"No." She picked up her courage and looked him in the eye; whatever was there, it wasn't what she'd expected.

"You did, didn't you. Probably killed a few of the fuckers on the way, too."

"Only one of the big ones," she replied softly. "What are you going to do to me?"

Riddick grinned at her, showing all his teeth. "I told you before, Spots. I like a woman who can take care of herself."

He hadn't hit her.

He hadn't chained her.

He hadn't so much as laid a finger on her for the rest of the evening.

Kat watched Riddick's chest rise and fall slowly. The bed creaked as she hesitated toward him. You'll always be a slave, he'd said.She let her hand drop back to her side. As long as that collar wears you, you're mine. But if she was his, then why had he hardly even touched her? His hunger was evident, but he slept soundly. He played with his own desire as if it were a living thing. She had seen young children pulling the wings off flies, just to see what would happen; she'd never seen a fly dismember itself.

For the first time, she wondered what it would be like if she wasn't his. What would her neck feel like with no collar? Would she still lie awake at night, waiting for him to take her?

Would she still be afraid, if he did?