Chapter 18
Sarge chewed on her lip, watching Riddick concentrate on a flight path already programmed into the computer. Her brows knitted, drawing a dark shadow over her face, shined eyes glimmering through. Something's wrong.
"Riddick?" A muscle in his shoulder twitched – the only indication he'd heard her. "Something's wrong." He grunted, and she took it to mean he already knew. She fell silent, watching the stars streak by as the ship pressed on, full speed ahead. Toward the dark, uncharted territory past the planet only known as Asphyxia.
"You know anything about ships?" His voice shattered the silence, and she started, staring over at him with wide eyes. When she didn't answer, he glanced over a shoulder at her, eyebrow poised. She shook her head no, and he sighed, nodding slightly as he leaned forward to switch over to auto pilot. "Don't touch anything," he growled, unbuckling his harness and standing, boots thudding as he checked out the small ship. She sat, still strapped in, in a chair against the wall just to the ass-end of the ship, hands folded in her lap as her fingers fought with each other, picking and pulling at dry cuticles and scabs. "Move."
"Move where?" she asked quietly. He towered over her, hands on his hips, features drawn down in exasperation.
"I don't give a fuck where you move, just move," he barked. Her eyebrow rose, eyes locking on his angrily as she unstrapped and stood next to him. They stared at each other for a moment before he crouched to search the area she'd occupied. He swore under his breath, dropping his head between tensed shoulders.
"What?" He shook his head, and she crouched as well. "Fucking talk to me, Riddick," she demanded, eyes glinting as they narrowed at him. After a quick glance at her, he reached under her seat. She jumped slightly at the loud ripping of metal, and he dropped a small box with a blinking light into her hand.
"That," he growled. Her eyebrow rose, and she turned the box over in her hand before looking back up at him as he stood. She shook her head, brows raised, but he didn't explain.
"Okay," she said slowly. "So what is that?"
"Put it in the expulsion chamber. Get rid of it."
"What is it?" she repeated, standing slowly.
"Tracking beacon. Get rid of it," he instructed. Her mouth fell open slightly, and she looked down at it like it was an alien chewing through her hand. "Now!" he bellowed, slightly satisfied as she flinched and scrambled to the rear, fumbling with the thing as she loaded and expelled it. "How the fuck did you survive all this time?" he muttered quietly. She turned toward him, face reddened with rage. "Don't know a fucking tracking beacon, can't fly a fucking ship."
"Well, pardon me for not being a fucking expert at everything," she snapped, flopping back into her chair, the hate still shining in her eyes. "You know, you're a real asshole sometimes."
"Fuck you." It was all he could come up with.
"I have," she spit, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Oh yeah, that's right," he drawled, lowering himself to straddle the pilot's chair. "You fucked just about everyone, didn't you?" Her eyes narrowed even more, nostrils flaring. He continued, saying everything that came to mind that would possibly tear into her already fragile psyche. He didn't know why. He just felt like he needed to. It was cathartic. The stress of concentrating so hard on a flawless escape with as little planning as they had just built up, and he couldn't think of a better way to let it loose without a punching bag. He was in the middle of a sentence when she launched from her chair, connecting a mean right hook with his jaw. Instantly, the beeping started. "Aw, fuck," he groaned, using the two wrists now captured in his hands to propel her back into her chair.
"I didn't touch anything," she insisted quickly, glancing around the control panel at all the flashing lights.
"I know you didn't," he said quietly, strapping her in. A bruise was already starting to form on her cheek where he'd connected his own jab, and the twitching in her side made by angry muscles assaulted by his knee was visible through her shirt. The fight was forgotten instantaneously as he returned to his chair, flipping switches and pressing buttons in rapid fire succession.
"Riddick –"
"Shut the fuck up," he snapped. "Let me concentrate and we'll talk about it later, okay?" She didn't answer, just shut her mouth and scowled. The ship lurched as the autopilot was switched off, and she stifled a gasp.
"Do you know anything about computers?" he asked quickly. Her eyebrow rose, but she didn't answer. He turned slightly, as though he were too distracted to turn his head completely to look at her. "Sarge?"
"You told me to shut the fuck up." He sighed. "Guess you're assuming command, huh?"
"You don't know how to pilot. I am in command," he corrected. "Do you know anything about computers?" he repeated. Still no answer. "I give you permission to talk. Fucking tell me."
"Yes."
"Can you reach the mainframe and still stay strapped in?" She tested the harness.
"Barely."
"Good. Check this bitch out and see if there are any weapons loaded on her," he ordered. Her fingers moved at lightning speed as she searched.
"Got a few things, but not much," she said quietly. "Couple of missiles on each side and a few thousand rounds of ammo for the gatling, but it's not much." He shook his head. "Why?"
"Got us a tail."
"Who?"
"Fuck if I know." The beeping grew louder and more insistent. "Whoever it is just painted us though."
"Painted us?" she asked, an empty pit growing in the bottom of her stomach.
"Locked on. Ready to fire." She almost swore in response, but Riddick guided the ship on a gut-wrenching spiral to avoid a missile screaming past. Every time she'd puked in slam she'd not eaten long enough to know what regurgitated slop tasted like. Now, she got close enough to not want to find out if it was worse than the shit that almost came up during that maneuver. She groaned. "That's why I asked if you could stay strapped in."
"Please don't do that again," she moaned.
"No promises." She leaned her head back, suddenly pale. A slight sheen of sweat make her skin glisten and she shuddered. The com unit crackled, and she started to reach for it. "Don't," he snapped, holding a hand out to the side for emphasis. Her eyebrow rose. He couldn't have seen her. Common sense, she told herself. Most people would reach for it.
"I know it's you, Riddick," a voice said over the unit, breaking up every now and then. "Don't make this harder on yourself."
"Shit." It was barely audible. "You still strapped in?"
"Yeah," she said warily.
"Get the radar up." She reached out, typing madly until she found it in the system and got it stabilized. "You have to be my eyes." He was right. She couldn't send the image up to his monitor – the picture would be too small to be functional for him even if the software would allow for it. The navigation monitor she was working at was in front of the door her chair was behind on one of the walls jutting into the ship behind the pilot's chair. It was even with his side, and there was no way he could crane his neck to see it and still pilot.
"You got one. Behind us to our right."
"Just one?" he asked, voice incredulous.
"That's all it shows," she said with a shrug. "I don't know how far out the radar goes."
"How close?"
"I don't know, Riddick." The tension was evident in both of their voices.
"Find out!" He heard the keys clicking furiously as she tried to find the program, short outbursts emitting here and there. "Hurry, Sarge," he pushed.
"I am fucking hurrying," she snapped, eyes unblinking as she typed. "There. Kilometer and a half."
"Hold on."
"Oh, shit," she gasped. Riddick pulled the ship into a backflip, bringing their pursuer's ship into view in front of them. She groaned, holding her stomach as she doubled over, fighting to keep her last meal down. "I thought I said not to do that again," she whimpered.
"That was the roll. And I said no promises," he returned, trying to lock onto the vessel now running from him. She watched his hands, cringing as he pulled the trigger.
"Defense system malfunction. Missile not armed," an electronic voice lilted. "Defense system malfunction. Missile not armed. Defense system malfunction. Missile not armed."
"Sarge?"
"Got it," she said quickly, returning to the keyboard and searching out the munitions program. "You're armed." The electronic voice stopped, and he swore as he tried to get the ship into his sights again. A slow beeping, and then a constant one as he locked on and fired.
"Holy shit," she whispered, dazzled by the swirling pinks and whites of the explosion. Riddick's jaw was set as he averted the wreckage, now floating in space. He eased back on the throttle, an eerie silence settling in the ship. Leather groaned as she leaned back in the chair, letting out a long, slow sigh.
"Well, that was fun," she murmered, rewarded with an evil chuckle from up front.
"You got an extra two thousand, give me your piece, and the cruiser's yours." Sarge sighed. She was leaned against the wall outside the doorway on which no door was hung, one foot propped up against the concrete behind her as she listened to Riddick barter with the dealer. Just fucking take it, she thought with a mental scowl. Too many people were milling around, and most of them gave her the creeps. Granted, she probably gave a lot of people the creeps, but still.
"One thousand and the ship," Riddick insisted. She sighed, shaking her head slightly. Cheapskate.
"Fifteen hundred and the ship."
"Twelve fifty and the ship." A pause, and Sarge turned her head toward the doorway.
"You're killin' me, man," he dealer sighed. "Fine. Twelve fifty and the ship. No warranty."
"Don't need one," Riddick said with a shrug. "Deal." She heard the beep as the credit chip was read and processed, and the jangling of keys being handed over. "We got one." She looked up at him, eyes moving up his torso slowly to meet his eyes.
"I can hear," she said, quirking an eyebrow at him as she cocked her head. "It's a cruiser, huh?" He shrugged slightly, and she followed him as he walked down the lot. A sleek black cruiser caught her eye, and she licked her lips. She might not have known much about ships, but the one before her was definitely a turn on. Her steps slowed, but he walked past it, and she sighed. Wishful thinking. "You've got to be kidding me." He jammed a key into a ratty, beaten up scrap and turned to her.
"What?"
"This piece of shit?" She pointed at it, brows knitted in a glower. He grunted and jerked the door open, the metallic groan not helping her impression of the craft. "Christ."
"It's efficient and low profile," he insisted.
"It looks like it's already survived a fucking war," she pressed.
"It has." Her face fell, and she just stared at him. "Ten year old prototype for a reconnaissance ship for the wars on Earth converted to a cruiser."
"Fuckin' ay," she moaned, rubbing her forehead.
"Completely rebuilt."
"Really."
"Yeah," he said, hoisting himself into the cabin from the cockpit door he'd just unlocked. "Where it counts." She sighed and followed. At least it's a bi-level, she thought as she glanced around. Not fancy by any stretch, but if he says it runs, I guess I'll just have to trust him. "Which room do you want?" he asked over his shoulder, pointing at a beam at the bottom of a doorway she knew she would eventually trip over.
"You're giving me a choice?"
"Same size. Doesn't matter to me," he said, pointing to each of the rooms.
"I don't care."
"Left handed or right handed?" She glanced at him.
"Right," she said slowly. He nodded at the room to their right and stepped into the one on the left. Guess I get the one on the right then. She entered slowly, taking in the room one square centimeter at a time. It would do. His boots thumped into the hallway, pausing outside her door.
"You got that chip Twosy stowed?" She nodded, pulling open the closet door.
"Why?"
"We got some shopping to do." Her eyebrow rose as her eyes met his. "Don't have a washer or anything, and my clothes are starting to get stiff." She smirked.
"You got the prison issues." He scowled, and she laughed. "Yeah, I guess."
The floor vibrated as the engines purred to life, a sudden rush of cold air prickling her skin, prompting goose bumps. She dropped her bag to the ground and glanced up at the vent grate.
"Fuck." There was no way to close it. Good thing I got an extra blanket. She returned to her new clothes, ripping off the tags before folding them and hanging them. Not a lot, but it'll last, she thought with a slight grimace. Have to recycle for a while until we can get a washer and dryer on this thing. At least we have a dishwasher. We. She paused at the word. It wasn't a familiar one, and it made her slightly nervous.
"You okay?" Her eyes snapped to the doorway and she glanced over him. No boots. No wonder I didn't hear him. She nodded, reaching for a pair of leather pants, feeling his eyes on her as she pulled off the tag and hung them in the closet. The bed creaked as he sat down.
"You already got situated?" she asked quietly. He shrugged. Probably just threw everything in the bottom of his closet and forgot about it, she thought with a small smirk.
"Sure you got everything you need?" She glanced at him before returning to her unpacking. "We're leaving in a bit. Don't want to forget anything essential."
"I have everything," she returned equally as quietly. His eyes followed her as she picked up a bag, setting it next to him before pulling out a drawer. He focused on his hands in his lap as she loaded her new underthings into the dresser, looking up as she walked back to the foot of the bed and grabbed another bag, this one full of pajamas. She stood in front of him again, leaning over slightly to load another drawer. He reached out, settling a hand on her hip and pulled her backward toward him as he stood. She braced herself, starting as his lips settled on her shoulder, arms sliding around her waist. He grunted as she drove her elbow into his side and untangled herself from his grasp.
"What the fuck was that for?"
"You still haven't apologized," she stated plainly, returning to loading her clothes into a drawer.
"For what?" She glanced over at him quickly, then looked back to her work. "Oh, that." He sighed. "I was stressed, okay? The escape, takeoff, not knowing the ship – "
"I don't want an excuse, Riddick," she interjected, snatching up the empty bags to toss in the small garbage can built into the wall next to the dresser. She took up another bag and left the room. He swore to himself and followed her down the hall, leaning over a little to avoid smacking his head on the doorway in the middle of the walkway. He watched in silence as she found places for her things in the bathroom, finally pausing and leaning against the counter, looking up at him expectantly.
" I'm sorry." Her eyes left his. "It was the heat of the moment, Sarge."
"Don't call me that." His brows knitted. Don't call you that? It's your fucking name. "Sarge is dead."
"So what do you want me to call you?"
"Call me whatever the fuck you want to," she said quietly, brushing past him and through the door.
"Christ."