XIV. Lost and Found

I have never been a holy man. One day I was a Trainer of pets, the next I was a man on the run from my employers, hiding out in a mosque to escape punishment for the murder of a female slave who had dared to fight back. As a child, I had attended services in that very same mosque only a few times a year, but the imam there still remembered me.

Remembered me, and forgave.

By the time the old priest had saved enough to buy my passage off-planet, I--Abu al-Walid--was a different man. I believed--or thought I did--with all my heart.

Then the crash--and the deaths of my three adoptive nephews, boys entrusted to me for the hajj that I'd foolishly imagined would give me true forgiveness. Such promising young men, it didn't seem possible that they were the sons of such a dangerous man as Sheik Abdullah.

It tore my believer's heart out of me. Where was God when these three innocents were being devoured?

Where was God when a young Trainer was murdering a slave?

I know now that it was God's justice. I know now that Kat's appearance in my life was Allah's voice whispering, Here is your path to repentance. I had thought I could simply turn my life away from evil, begin anew and all would be well. But there are no beginnings without endings. I will make right my wrongs. Then I can finally lay my boys to rest.

And so I now work to help slaves like the ones I once harmed. I am not the only former Trainer to do so.

Joining me on the flight from New Mecca were three other former Trainers, and Jack. The girl's time as a fellow pilgrim has changed her as much as the trauma of the eclipse had. For her, the enclave on Janus is a good cause, something to give herself to. But for myself, it is a way to redeem my life. Daily I work among former slaves--some of whom I trained myself--every day a chastisement for my early misdeeds. My life among the winged terrors of Janus is a constant reminder that Ali, Hassan, and Suleiman paid for sins that were not their own.

I do not know how much of this Jack understands. Perhaps, once Kat meets the man we call Moses, she will understand, and forgive.

To the humans living there, it was known as New Jerusalem. To the indigenous winged folk, it was known simply as the Hive. Half burrow-and-cavern system, half subterranean city, the New Jerusalem Hive took in escaped pets and other slaves, laying the groundwork for an interplanetary underground railroad. The first settlers in this odd cooperative had set up geothermal power far beneath the surface of Janus, running the city off the heat of the planet itself. It was so deep underground that no satellite could pick up even a residual signature. All this Imam explained to Kat as he led her deeper and deeper into the earth.

But Kat comprehended more than he explained: Very few people, human or otherwise, seemed to understand the real reason the fearsome Janite Elders had originally invited these settlers in. Kat couldn't tell whether Imam knew that reason; if he did, he chose not to share it with her.

Being fully lit, the human quarter was closed off to its photophobic hosts. The humans had expanded the caves, carving out subterranean homes, gardens, farms, workshops, and businesses--an entire community hidden from the outside galaxy.

One of the monsters stood guard at the first set of double doors Imam brought Kat to. She watched in disturbed awe as Imam and the creature conversed quietly, each understanding the other's language. Moving aside, the creature depressed a panel in the corridor wall, and the doors rumbled open. Kat slunk past, following Imam. She wondered how long had it taken Imam and Jack to feel comfortable among these predators.

It was pitch black between the first and second set of doors--not even the usual bioluminescence for comfort. But the second set of doors opened quickly into another corridor, this one illuminated by a host of electric lamps.

The corridor opened almost immediately into an enormous cavern. The grand room had been carved out in one piece, leaving decorative pillars of living rock spaced evenly about for support; lighted panels were set into the walls and the high ceiling.

Humans and pets mingled equally, as though there were no difference between them. None of the pets wore collars. Children--human, pet, and mixed--ran freely among family and strangers alike. The scents, the sounds, the muted roar of continuously echoing conversations, it all combined to remind Kat of New Mecca and even Babylon--but here were no unfriendly stares or leers, and neither of the other cities had this underscent of breathing earth. She wanted to stay and explore the crafts, the clothing, the foods, and the people, but Imam led her rapidly though the gallery, stopping briefly only to greet friends.

Countless other corridors, carved in flowing arches, led out of the main cathedral cavern. The corridor Imam led Kat into ended in yet another set of doors; he punched a code into a keypad, and these doors gave way with a smooth hiss, rather than the earlier rumble. Inside was another dark area. Past the second double doors, the interior was again lit only by lichens on the walls and ceilings; Kat stumbled a little as the floor began to slant back upwards.

Imam turned to a door set into the wall. Knocking once, he entered, gesturing Kat to join him. Inside, an old man sat behind a huge desk at the far wall, signing papers beneath a small lamp. An ex-slave, a female, stood near the desk, speaking in low tones to him. Both had looked up at Imam and Kat's entry, the old man rising to his feet upon seeing Kat.

The woman looked to be in her late forties. She was entirely hairless, covered instead in fine scales; a crest of short spines topped her skull. The bronze of her scales complemented the intense blue of her eyes. Instead of pleasure, though, this woman looked as though she'd been made for combat. But like the rest of the ex-slaves, she wore no behavioral inhibitor. She smiled at Kat and Imam, but her hand was nervously smoothing down the front of her blouse.

Kat's jaw dropped. It was the scaled woman from the kennel! The one who'd kept taunting the boy....

"What happened to the boy that--" Kat blurted out, but stopped.

"Daniel?" the scaled woman asked. "He lives here now." Her tone was abrupt, cold.

His name was David, Kat thought to herself, wondering how the woman could have forgotten the boy's name. "Then why--"

The old man cleared his throat and rounded the edge of the desk. "Prissa was on assignment," he explained, his voice a refined brogue, "helping the kennel owner smuggle out pets who'd been abandoned to 'euthanasia.'" He took Kat's hand in his own, and her heart jumped into her throat.

She'd seen his face before. If only she could remember where.

Though his dusky skin was covered with fine lines, the gray of his eyes matching his salt-and-pepper hair, he bore a trace resemblance to Prissa--and, Kat realized with a deep sense of shock, to herself.

Kat's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" And then she remembered the photograph on the wall of the kennel on Babylon, and her mind's eye read the placard she'd ignored before. "Moshe Ibrahim," she murmured.

"A sadly ironic name for the creator of your kind," he admitted. "The need for all this, in fact," and he waved his hand, denoting the whole hidden community, "has been due to my own supreme arrogance." He sighed. "My original intention was to engineer humans who could survive in harsh, alien environments." He picked up a small tool, crossed behind Kat, and deftly removed the collar she'd worn for as long as she could remember. "This," he said, holding the thing distastefully, "has been my reward."

Imam touched Kat's shoulder, murmuring that he had business to attend to elsewhere, and left. She felt naked at his absence, a disturbing thought that she shoved away. "But... if you're the creator of the slave race, then... then you should have died last century!"

The man known as Moses gave a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, indeed, I died. But merely for legal purposes. My continued good health is due to yet more molecular tinkering. That particular knowledge, though, will die with me, I assure you."

The scaled woman, Prissa, shifted nervously. "Moshe," she said urgently.

Ibrahim gave her a quelling look, then turned back to Kat. "Prissa here is rather concerned with your companion, the young man who came with you. Richard B. Riddick, I believe his name is?" Kat drew away nervously. "Oh, don't worry," the old man continued. "Every one of us is a criminal of some sort. Myself included. But I find myself somewhat disappointed that he hasn't chosen to stay with us. Even more so that young Jack will be leaving with him." He sighed again. "But... they have their own paths to follow."

"They have to murder the Lost Nest, you mean," Prissa shot back.

"Those creatures are dying anyway, Prissa, you know that. And if our hosts--their own kin--don't object to it, then neither should you or I." Moshe sounded irritated, as if this was an old argument.

"You mean they're leaving?" Kat interjected. "When?"

"Oh, yes," Moshe said, "their ship has already been safely--and secretly--brought from the spaceport. I imagine you'll be wanting to see them off. Just a moment." He switched off his lamp, plunging the room back into the semi-darkness of the Hive corridors. Then he called into a doorway that Kat hadn't noticed before. "Would you please come in here?"

A nightmare emerged from the shadows of the hallway. One of the monsters--Natives, Kat tried to convince herself. People.

"Would you be so kind as to escort this young lady to the north courtyard?"

"Moshe!" Prissa snapped. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Kat's new here, remember? I'll take her."

Kat looked back and forth between the gargoylish Janite and the scaled woman. She suddenly wondered which was the real Prissa--the tame woman who was Moshe Ibrahim's aide, or the half-mad slave taunting a boy with the prospect of death.

"No," Kat said nervously. "I already know I want to stay here. I need to get used to these... people."

The nightmare in the corner gave a satisfied thrum, cocking its head at Kat. The gesture was so absurdly similar to the one Riddick used that Kat didn't know whether to laugh or scream. Taking a long look at the thing, she said, "You won't hurt me. Will you?"

It gave a slow, clear shake of its massive head.

"Do you... have a name?"

Another unmistakable head shake, followed by a cackling hiss.

"They don't use names," Moshe advised her. "Only the very oldest ones even have a conception of 'self' in the same way that we humans do." He gave her a warm smile. "Go on, then. Your friends won't wait forever."

Kat started to turn back to the door behind her, but the creature gave a short bark. It was clearly waiting for her to follow it into the dark burrow it had come out of. Oh--there are lights outside the other door, Kat reminded herself, faintly embarrassed.

Giving a shaky smile to Moshe, Kat stepped out of the office and into the most terrifying few minutes of her life.

The burrows and hallways her guide led her through swarmed with other creatures, all chirping, hissing, and whooping. No sounds or smells of domesticity here. It was all that demented chittering--similar to the hunting calls of the eclipse creatures but somehow more musical--but was that any better?--and the distinctive odor of rotten meat. Biting her lip against moans of fear, she broke out in a sweat, her claws extended. But none of the monstrous creatures gave her so much as a second 'look.'

Jack, all smiles, met Kat where the hallway led out into the northern courtyard--in reality, a small crater. Aside from Kat's guide, none of the creatures were anywhere nearby, though the Nightfall waited with running lights doused.

Then the lights flashed on, and Kat squinted against the sudden, harsh glare to see Riddick walking down the ship's boarding ramp. A rustle behind her told her the creature had vanished back into the gloomy tunnel, but Kat felt it hadn't gone far. She didn't know why that thought should be reassuring.

"Aren't you coming with us, Kat?" Jack asked. But her eyes were on Riddick.

Kat shook her head. "I think I'll stay here a while. Are you two really going--back there?"

Riddick's grin matched the ones Kat had only seen on the Janite monsters. "The next eclipse isn't due for a while. By the time we get there, I figure we'll have about fifteen years to kill off every last one of the fuckers."

Jack scuffed her foot in the dirt, looking not entirely convinced of the whole operation. But Kat knew she'd do anything for Riddick. She wondered if the reverse would also be true.

"Riddick--" she started, but he cut her off.

"Don't thank me, Kat. You don't know anything about me."

She hadn't been about to thank the man--she doubted he would know what to do with gratitude. "I'm a pet," she snapped instead. "I know my owners."

"Really."

"I know you like to think you're in control, you like to think you don't care. I know why you left Jack on New Mecca. And I know whose name was on your lips when you thought I wasn't watching."

Riddick stared at her, unspeaking, for several moments. Then, turning his back on Kat, he took Jack's hand in his own. They boarded the Nightfall together.

A weather satellite passed over the terminus from the scorched dayside of Janus to the unforgiving black of night. WS27-J kept routine watch over the complicated weather systems of the two-faced planet, a task suited to the complacent nature of a machine. Its human masters demanded constant information on climate conditions, for reasons both practical and scientific.

Occasionally, WS27-J presented small glitches that the meteorologists had come to expect. It was, after all, only a machine. But it wasn't programming errors that caused the glitch. WS27-J was a shell program.

A bloom of heat flared far below, well inside the nightside terminus. The signature matched the artificial heat produced by the engines of a starship or other large, manmade machine. Abruptly, WS27-J went into standby mode, and somewhere on the planet, a control man complained about yet another bug in the unreliable satellite.

Somewhere else on the planet, another control man hastily recorded coordinates sent in by a military satellite. MS9-J had spotted an artificial heat signature where none were supposed to exist. The control man notified his superiors, then sent an acknowledgement to the satellite.

MS9-J returned to standby mode. WS27-J came back online.

The Nightfall left orbit.

End.