Chapter Two


Riddick ate no more than any other man in the dinning hall, travelers and crew alike. When a round of drinks was offered to all at the table, he and Imam were the only two to pass. After the final course had been cleared from the tables every one retired to the 'Ball Room.' The trio didn't stick around to socialize.

"Miss Slam tea," Riddick murmured absently as they strolled down the hall to their designated launching bay.

"Better than the muck they served tonight," agreed Jack, as if she knew.

"Too sweet," he nodded, playing along. Imam frowned at him; Riddick was just fueling the fire, encouraging her.

When the last bits and pieces had been installed, they strapped themselves in for take off. Jack gripped the arm wrests of the co-pilots seat tightly, preparing for the lung smashing jolt that always followed a lunch directly into space. With no atmosphere to climb through, the craft's acceleration was anything but steady. Riddick gave the thumbs up to the control deck window, and they waved back. The bay doors ground open, protesting every inch they had to slide.

"Ready for this?" He asked, his voice deceivingly soft. Not waiting for an answer, he punched it. The engines ignited and flared, propelling them through the heavy doors before they'd completely cleared. Jack let out an excited whoop, and Imam grimaced in one of the back seats.

They whipped along for a while in silence, pushing break neck speeds for that shitty little tin can they'd swiped off that all-forsaken planet. When they had first hit the shipping lane, Riddick had intended to try and get them picked up by a civilian cruiser; preferably one driven by a millionaire (who still felt he had to compensate for something with a glitter-monster of a ship) and his too-dumb-for-her-bra girl friend. The type of people who should be one their toes and alert to danger at all times, but absolutely never were because they believed their money would protect them. They'd be easy to sucker over, especially with a kid on board. He might be able to convince them to drop him some where along the way and take Jack and Imam all the way to Helion... or he could just kill and master the boat himself. But that plan had some cumbersome chinks in it, so he formulated a new one: putter along to the nearest space station, find just the right sort of degenerate, use the last of the morph shells he'd jacked form the real Johns to barter with, gain a compatible supralight drive, then install it himself. He knew he could pull that one off with out a hitch. And he did.

Riddick wasn't quite ready to chug it into supralight speed. He needed to brush up on the news. He'd been careful not to check his files on the station's comps; last thing he needed was a piggy back server to relay the info to the on campus enforcers.

Punching the touch screen, he brought up his stats. Though the Hunter Grazner had been reported as missing, he was still listed as DETAINED. He'd give it a couple more standard days before it changed to OUT. They'd never put him down as missing, too many smart people were working the boards. They knew to list him as missing was as good as giving him a free pass, even if they believed he was dead. Never under estimate a guy who's been put through the Shine.

Out of curiosity, he pulled up the summary attached to the Hunter Grazner status. He was insulted. Not even the briefest mention of his name, no suggestion that its cut out could be attributed to him. It might have been unflattering, but at least it held water. He rubbed his tongue over his teeth in distaste; too many things had been unfairly blamed on him.

He paused for a quick glare to his right. Jack's big eyes were scrutinizing his every move. He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "What's on your mind?"

Her eye's shifted to the back of the bus. Imam was dozing. She was free to talk to him. She didn't want to sound over eager, "Nothin'."

"Mmm," he purred, looking back to the dash. He knew what she was thinking. She was wondering just how long that rap sheet of his was. Just how many people had he killed? Just how many slams had he split from? Just how many systems was he wanted in?

He could feel the absence of conciseness in Imam. If no one was going to protest the 'improper', he was going to indulge in some fun. It was all innocent any way. "I get it," he said, "You wanna check up on yourself. Tell me, Jack," she stifled a small shiver, "What are you wanted for? Kid doesn't hop a shuttle and swap gender with out a real reason to run."

She smirked. "You won't find me any where in those archives."

"Yeah, why not?"

"Cuz you don't know who to look for, and I ain't gonna tell you my real name," she crossed her arms defiantly in front of her.

"Anonymity," he mussed. "Make's it hard to get a decent Rep."

She felt brave, "Seems to me it's your Rep we're running from."

He didn't smile. The kid was sharp. Maybe too sharp. His fingers twitched unexpectedly; maybe he should make a general sweep. Female juveniles in the penal system under thirteen. He bit the inside of his lip, cursing internally. She made him second guess himself. No one could do that. No one. What was with this bird? He chose not to comment.

"What's it like?" she probed, "Getting a Shine?"

"It burns," he said lowly, "Burns bad. Worse than Spitfire venom. First they squirt you full of this purple stuff, makes your eyes bug out. Then they peel back the top layer and sew in these tiny yellow jems called Jaguars. Over the top of those goes a layer of mercury, only a few atoms thick. Can't use pain killers through out any of it, nulls the whole deal if you do. Right before it's over most beg for the doc to pop their corneas rather than shoot in the last of the chemicals that make it all work. Better forever blind than in that kind of pain. Pain that makes you want to stick a shiv through your own retinas. Out of the few who go under the needle, most opt-out."

He rubbed his chin, and added, "How they like to scream..."

"But you didn't," she said confidently.

He didn't answer.