XI. The Path of Repentance

My Friend,

No doubt you remember my three young charges--Ali, Hassan, and Suleiman--who were originally accompanying me to New Mecca. I recently spoke with their father, Sheik Abdullah. His gratitude for your tireless efforts to save the boys was overwhelming. He has sworn to provide you with both legal and physical protection. Although his family home is in Saudi Arabia, he offers the sanctuary of his estates on Daedalus II, in thanks. The young one and I will meet you there.

Salaam,

Imam Abu al-Walid

The message was waiting for them in the ship's computer. Riddick hadn't opened it till he'd run it through countless scrubbers and filters, and even then he'd been tensed up like some sort of reptile waiting to strike. Like that scaled woman.

Riddick had come for Kat late at night, when both of Babylon's moons were close to setting. The kennel had been only a few minutes from closing, but she had the impression that business hours were the last thing on her owner's mind.

Kat leaned next to Riddick, her head cocked to one side, lips moving soundlessly as she muddled through the final words.

"That--it's not from Imam," she said.

Riddick looked sideways at her. "Really. I hadn't noticed."

His sarcasm went over Kat's head. "Sheik Abdullah... he wouldn't know gratitude if it slapped him. And his 'estates' on Daedalus II, they're really just a collection of private Dens."

"So you know this character?" He turned to face her. "You've been around quite a bit, Spots."

Kat swallowed hard. "...He was my second owner. My first owner, his half brother, 'loaned' me to the Sheik with instructions to kill him." She looked down at her hands, and fisted them to bury the claws in her palms. "That's what I'd been originally made for, after all."

She glanced up at her owner, who was watching her with almost predatory interest, and shrank away. "Look, maybe you can kill without looking back, but I'm not like you! I'm not... not..."

"Not what?" Riddick growled.

Kat's eyes stung. "I'm a pet," she whispered. "Just a pet."

Riddick leaned in close to her, so close his breath brushed past her cheek and against her ear. One large hand slipped between her legs. "So he's the one that did this to you?"

Kat shivered at his touch as it awakened the remembered agony of those tiny white-hot blades, cutting and cauterizing, and she tried not to flinch away.

"No wonder no one wants you anymore," Riddick sneered.

Kat's mouth fell open. She shoved his hand away, bolted for the stateroom, and locked the door behind her.

Riddick was angry again. But at least his cold fury wasn't directed at Kat this time. Periodically, he would take the lift to the cargo deck. She could hear him beating on the wall below.

Someone had known about their little spontaneous family. Someone had followed them to New Mecca, or had been waiting for them there. Someone had seen Jack with Imam, had concocted that fake message--or more likely, intercepted a real one and altered it.

Riddick had set course back to New Mecca with all speed, but it still took five days before the Nightfall docked there again. Kat refused to exit the ship. Fortunately, Riddick agreed that the pet would only be an inconvenience on his hunt for Jack and Imam, and he left her alone on the ship with an admonishment to stay put.

The whole situation frightened and confused Kat, who was just beginning to realize the implications of belonging to an escaped convict. What would happen to her if--when--he was caught? She'd heard horror stories of the questioning they put pets through, pets who had belonged to criminals like Riddick, who were likely to know more about their owners than the owners ever realized.

Criminals like Riddick.

What was he hiding in the cargo hold?

Kat brought the lights up full in the hold. Racks. Aisles and aisles of racks. And on the racks, weapons. She found herself unsurprised. Rifles, both energy and projectile; shotguns, handguns, and boxes upon boxes of ammunition; daggers, knives, bayonets for some of the rifles. A sudden image of Riddick pushing a shopping cart around Babylon brought a short-lived smile to her face.

Then she came to the crates of explosives. She didn't understand the letters and numbers stenciled on the cases, but the designs of dynamite and fireballs told her what lay inside. A chill shook her. If Riddick was caught while running this much weaponry, Kat was sure the authorities would try to take information out of her own hide.

The final third of the space in the hold was dedicated to lights and generators. Flashlights, floodlights, halogen beams, even remote, free-floating light globes; batteries of all sizes, power cables, generators--

"Looking for something?"

Kat whirled. He was standing next to the lift, goggles fastened over his eyes. She'd been so intent on her investigation that she hadn't heard the lift going up or coming back down.

"Lights to dim." Riddick peeled off his goggles as the darkness fell. "Haven't you ever heard that curiosity killed the cat?"