And What Art

J'Pheth didn't want Zemma to message Riddick live, which suited her purposes. And he saw the value in doing it just before the men arrived, less noise. Twenty men with weapons make more noise than an empty room no matter how quiet they try to be. Zemma had been thinking about the movements her new persona would use, and how she could hide the important ones from J'Pheth.

She insisted on a message vid, saying Riddick was too damn paranoid to accept voice only. And she used her hands more when she spoke, so when she did it in front of the com J'Pheth wouldn't be as suspicious. When he tried to stand too close Zemma reminded him that Riddick was Furian and had more sensitive hearing than most. He accepted this, knowing it was true for himself. That gave her the room and angle she needed.

"Lord Marshal, since you have rejected my," she brought her hand to her chest on 'my' but only one finger landed. "…Advances, I suggest a strictly business…" Now five fingers landed on her chest in rapid succession four times. "…Proposition. I would appreciate the presence of your company this morning." Zemma hit end and send before J'Pheth could ask for a review. He scowled but had seen nothing and didn't object.

Then they waited. The twenty men filed in over the next few minutes, in smaller, less obvious groups. Zemma hoped Riddick was still in his suite, that he wouldn't just come by unannounced. That he could fail to notice this new mask wasn't an issue. She had never called him Lord Marshal, though she had called him Sir in public. The entire message was screaming 'trap!' She had to trust him.

Zemma wandered aimlessly, a skill she had perfected but now she had to do it less obviously and with the required poise. It was easier being invisible, she decided. She needed to get near enough to her bedroom to make a dash for it. Nor followed her restlessly, feeling hungry and no doubt picking up on Zemma's agitation. That suited, she wanted Nor near her.

Time flowed even more slowly than it had all night, but she wasn't bothered by random thoughts and rampant second-guessing now. She was picturing her father's closet, his clothes, his weapons, the ones he specifically did not take with him to Crematoria. She ran through all the katas he had taught her, picturing them now with real targets in front of her. He hadn't taught her enough, she thought again. But they would have to do. She tried to relax to the music still playing softly in the background.

Riddick would know, he would gather what forces he could trust.

"See if he had received the message yet."

Ugh. That took her away from where she wanted to be. But she smiled, "Certainly."

"Message received," she said and had to consciously make her voice greedy instead of relieved.

Praise the stars.

"What's taking him?" J'Pheth was agitated.

"He still thinks he's Lord Marshal." Zemma cooed and faked a Lady Vaako chortle. J'Pheth chuckled back. Twenty men exchanged looks and readied weapons. Zemma counted heartbeats and tried to sway her way back towards her room.

Ten minutes.

Twelve, and Zemma was nearly close enough to her room to feel she had a chance of getting in the door before he shot her when the door com chimed for personal entry. Riddick could enter with just his palm print, without needing to be let in.

"Lights off, lock!" Zemma twitched up her lenses and made her dash. She could hear exclamations of surprise behind her. She hadn't seen J'Pheth use his blue lenses, but even if he could he was the only one of twenty.

Nineteen; that was definitely the sound of someone dying.

Eighteen, seventeen… she was to her father's closet. Oh, Ferrin I hope it's enough. She grabbed the largest knife she had ever practiced with. Sixteen; men were shouting now, trying to coordinate in the blackness. Nor made a horrendous noise, half roar and half pain. Zemma hoped she was all right.

Was that fifteen?

She turned and was confronted by a figure she could see in the darkness. Could he see her? She stopped breathing. She did not see eye-shine but in utter blackness she might not depending on the angle. She moved a foot, trying to make no noise, and let her body follow. He was moving slowly towards her last location. She stepped away again hoping the sounds outside would mask her clothing making any noise.

Fourteen. Thirteen.

She could still hear Nor, and perhaps number twelve falling to her fangs.

Did Riddick come alone or gather the other four Furians he knew?

She stepped sideways again. The figure in the dark did not seem to be following her progress. It was waiting for her to make a noise. She thought her lungs would burst.

Eleven was very near her door. The figure turned sharply in that direction.

Move NOW!

Zemma moved fast, and didn't stay to see if her passing swipe had done more than agitate the figure. She felt the blade bite in, it would have to be enough for now. She ran for the door and the cover of noise, finally able to breathe.

Ten fell dead at her feet and she leapt sideways to avoid tripping. And avoided gunfire from behind as well. No one used projectiles blindly inside a space ship; they were for close quarters and sure shots! Everyone in the room froze, except Riddick. She didn't see any of the Furian Commanders.

Egomaniacal prig!

Footsteps behind her! Zemma backed up against the wall next to her bedroom door. She had one quick shot as he came out or he'd level the room with gunfire. She saw nine and eight go down from the corner of her eye. Then Riddick was moving towards the other side of the door.

Nuh-uh. Mine.

Good girl!

Zemma spun to give momentum where she lacked strength. She was aiming at throat level; she knew his momentum would help too. These men normally fought in armor but J'Pheth wasn't wearing any.

Zemma's blade, shorter than a sword but longer than a knife, bit into flesh and bone deeply. She knew she missed the throat, but had done the job anyway. She let the body carry her weapon away rather than try to hang on to it.

Seven!

Well, actually, J'Pheth made twenty-one.

Shut up!

Riddick was feet from her, she saw the shape of his face change into what was undoubtedly a grin, and a twitch of a shoulder that said, 'Well, ok then.' Then he turned back to the room. Seven men tried to get back to back in the blackness when Nor made the number six. That scattered them again, stumbling over bodies and furniture.

Zemma only watched now. Riddick was far better at this than she guessed. It probably wouldn't look so fluid and interesting with the lights on and blood all over her apartment. But in the dark with her lenses up is was quite remarkable. He was quite remarkable.

Oh stop it.

Nor and Riddick both stalked the last two. It was almost as if they were mates when they turned and looked at each other before the final assault.

Tiger, tiger, burning bright,
In the forest of the night,

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

End Part 3, stay tuned for part 4...