Chapter five
She mimicked his gesture, raising her shoulders evenly, "I understand." She inconspicuously pressed a button beneath her desk top, then rose and unlocked the door.
They stood. Opening the door, she hurried Jack out first, then Imam. When Riddick moved to leave, she stepped in front of him, barring his path. Immediately, four guards appeared in the hall and took hold of Jack and Imam. They secured their hands behind their backs and forced them away.
Jack realized she was being separated from Riddick, and she wouldn't have it. She kicked at her escorts and tried to wriggle free. When she couldn't, she cried out, "Johns!"
A startling pang hitched Riddick's lungs tight in his chest. His eyes widened at his automatic reaction to her distress. Thankfully, his goggles kept his surprise hidden from Ms. Rhiannon. To her, he still remained a pillar of indifference.
She motioned for him to back away from her. He stayed, rooted to the spot. Their close proximity didn't make her fidgety, even if it did make her nervous. He mentally commended her for that. Carefully, lightly, she placed her finger tips on his chest and applied pressure. "I don't give in to threats," she warned.
"Who's making threats?" he said, his tone equally informing.
"Sit down," she command firmly.
He could just sweep her aside. No skin off my nose, he thought. But the fact that she didn't cower from him, and instead insisted on barking orders, made him still his hand. Even fem-mercs didn't dare play that game with him. A strong woman deserves to be heard out, he decided. He took up his chair again.
She quickly shut the door, re-latched it, then put her desk between them. She did not sit. "Who are you?" she demanded harshly. "I saw the panic in that man's eyes. Did you kidnap them?"
Bold, he thought blandly. "That's wasn't panic."
"Answer my questions." She tapped the desk for punctuation.
He slouched forward, cocking his head to one side, and replied with mock amity, "I'm Lawrence Johns, resident mercenary. That's my crew you just hauled outta here."
"Your crew?" she couldn't believe his insolence.
"Mmm- hmm," he nodded with a shadow of a grin.
She leaned austerely against the wall behind her, with her arms crossed like iron bars over her chest. "The child-"
"What about him?"
"Who does he belong to?"
He stretched back, placing his arms rigidly over the rests. With earnest, so there would be no question, "Me. Like I told your gate keeper, Jack's my nephew. He goes where I go." With that, he move to leave once more.
"I have to take you to a holding suite," she said, intending to halt him in his tracks.
Opening the door, he waited for her, "Better get on with it, then."
She felt the need to make conversation as they stomped down the corridor, his elbow clutched in her capable hand. "We will run a series of experiments on those creatures. Make no mistake, we will determine their planet of origin. I suppose it's where you came from. I look forward to returning you there, I'm sure you're sorely missed."
"Sister, you've got no idea..."
Upon arriving at his 'suite', she thrust him in. It was a much gentler exchange than he'd some how expected. Two large members of the local militia were posted out side. "I have no patience for mercenaries," she remarked before leaving him.
Wonder how she feels about convicts, then, he pondered absently.
The room was sparse, but (needless to say) much more livable than any slam. He noted that it rather resembled the guest quarters on the Sigra station they had not long departed from. That left him inexplicably bitter.
He pushed himself to the bathroom. Abruptly, his stomach flipped and he felt sick. Shoving the old fashioned, porcelain toilet seat up, he vomited, completely emptying his belly. After a final, dry hack, he moved to the sink. Flipping off the lights manually, and roughly clawing the shades from his face, he peered through the darkness into the mirror. It'd been a while since he'd seen a meal a second time. His constitution was as stable as stone. Bad sign, he concluded, very bad sign.
He rinsed his mouth out, but couldn't get the taste of contamination out of his palate. He felt dirty. Not the usual dirty, with grit and personal grime, but dirty as if there was a pool of toxic waist in his gut. The feeling seeped through every pour, from head to foot.
He barked at the shower to turn on. It complied, unmoved by the crushed glass in his voice. He tested the water, making sure it was as hot as he could stand.
He was used to not knowing where he was going. He was used to not understanding who he was. He was used to not caring where he came from... But he wasn't used to being eluded by his emotions. He always understood what he was feeling and why he was feeling it. This moment was the exception. It was as if an astral hand had reached inside of him and scrambled the higher- thinking part of his brain, leaving the reptilian part to sort out the mess. He felt jumbled and confused. Why was he acting this way? Where were these abstract perceptions and befuddled mentalities stemming from?
Though a battle was raging in his mind, his exterior was as sound and collected as always. His hands worked mechanically over his form, scrubbing deftly at the soiled sensation. After mere minutes, his skin felt raw under the near scalding onslaught of water. The burning was good. It was something to focus on- a simple distraction. He patted his head; it would be time for a shave soon.
He reeled. Slapping his hand out to meet the shower wall, he steadied himself. Jack. Some how the feelings were related to her. That didn't help, he still couldn't place what they were. He resisted the impulse to yank the shower head off of its base. Pin pointing the source had only succeeded in heightening his exasperation.
Kids. More trouble than they're worth.
, he thought blandly. "That's wasn't panic.", he pondered absently.