Temperance.
Riddick landed at the New Meccan spaceport. He was fairly certain someone was playing him; trying to lure him out, using Jack to do it. He probably should stay far away. She could even be in on it.
But he was real pissed off. And he felt a peculiar sense of obligation to these two souls he'd taken off that planet. Wanted to make sure they were okay. Almost hoped she was in on it; the other possibilities disturbed him deeply.
He made his way to the Imam's old house. It was quiet, empty, seemingly unwatched aside from a few standard cameras that were easy to step around, even if they could penetrate the loose robes people fancied here.
He knew the Imam's security system well. He'd installed it. His override codes were still embedded. Nice. Walked in nice and proper, a beloved cousin.
The house was a testament to tasteful material comfort. The good holy man had done rather well for himself. Married, with a young daughter. Even become some sort of government official. Huh. Guess that answers that question. The Imam was probably fine.
There were pictures on the wall. Jack was in some of them, always standing slightly apart, drawn into herself. More when she was young; the more recent shots showed an increasingly pretty raven haired girl with an increasingly distant look in her eyes.
Some plaques stopped him. Kid's been working hard, he thought. Awards for fencing and track. Two black belts. Good for her. Guess the Imam had come around. Good for him.
Abu had been very uncomfortable with the skills Jack had been accumulating on their trip. Even got into his face about it once. "What if she needs to be corrected? Disciplined?" he'd asked, worriedly.
Riddick had smiled, showing teeth. "I suggest you tell . . . whoever is thinking of it . . . not to try corporeal punishment," he'd said, lightly. But the message should have been clear. Anyone who laid rough hands on her risked getting ripped apart, even this kindly man.
He moved up the stairs. She still had the same room. Locked from the outside.
Actually took him a moment to get through it without breaking it.
Good quality furniture, but overall, the room was Spartan. Almost nothing on the walls or shelves. Painfully neat. Like a careful guest. He did not much like the implications of that. A small bathroom off to one side; no exterior door or window. Only two ways in or out; the door and the window above her bed.
The room smelled like apple blossoms; a strangely feminine counterpoint to the starkness.
Something was tugging his attention toward the closet. Some familiar smell cutting through the invisible flowers. Some disturbingly familiar smell.
It was a typical closet; no entrance to another world; no dead bodies, no monsters. Neater than most. He crouched down, examined several pairs of good quality boots. One pair was thrust into the back, haphazardly, rather than lined up with the others. He picked them up carefully.
The synthetic leather reeked of blood. Her blood. And someone else's. Not too fresh. He put them back, disquieted.
Something else caught his eye. Now why would she have one of these? Tucked in the back was a high end military issue knap sack. A type he recognized; the type they gave you when you had to hike overland to your target and carry your kit on your back. Not cheap, but worth every credit when you needed them. They could completely shield the contents from scans, meaning you could carry high tech equipment; weapons, drugs; whatever, through most surveillance short of a hand search. This one was heavy; about thirty kilos. Much to heavy for her.
Feeling increasingly uneasy, he opened it on her bed. Like nearly everything else in this room, it was neatly arranged. Two pulse pistols – very, very illegal here. He'd left his on the ship. A large variety of combat knives. None the one he'd given her. About ten week's worth of a high calorie emergency ration. Some other non perishable food. Two thermal suits. A small but highly useful first aid kit, including some drugs he was sure civilians were not supposed to have access to. A small tool kit. Lock picking tools. Two scanners; one high end military, one black ops. Each probably worth 40,000 credits. Currency of various planets – quite a lot. Some jewels. Data chips. Better than currency. Some fluid bladders that would purify water. Water. A few changes of clothes. Some survival equipment. A pair of force cuffs and a key . . .
He picked the cuffs up. A type mercs used. There was blood was on these too, mostly washed off. Couldn't tell if it was hers or not. He did not like the image that flashed into his head at all.
She could have bought some of this stuff. But the rest of it . . . college girls who went looking for it would be lucky to get back home.
Where in hell had she gotten this stuff? Was she hunting mercs?
No. There shouldn't be mercs here to hunt.
Was she working with mercs? Were these presents?
No. Too beat up, too much blood on them. He picked up the scanners, turned the military one on. It booted up with a familiar silence. She didn't know – or didn't care – how to wipe the logs of previous uses. The last thirteen times, it had been used to check if a tracking device was in a person or object. Memory was wiped before that. Same thing with the other.
Tracking devices. She's checking herself and the stuff she's scavenging.
He didn't want to be sitting here any more. Jack was not okay. He repacked the bag carefully and returned it. Relocked the door on his way out.
He stopped in what was clearly the Imam's office. The computer submitted easily to long buried memories of infiltration and reconnaissance. The financial records confirmed the old man was doing quite well, and appeared to be fairly generous with Jack. Good. He was paying her tuition at a local college. Her schedule popped up obediently. He pulled up the man's journal. The last entry was several days old:
Brought Kyra home today, God be praised. The poor child. What monsters.
Huh. He flipped back. The prior entry was less cryptic.
My wife says we must send the child away. She says we cannot keep her safe, and she is putting us in danger.
Kyra knows, I think. I hate myself for this, but sometimes I wish she would just leave us. Relieve me of my obligations. I've seen the longing to leave in her eyes.
But where would she go? They've offered protective custody. That terrified her. She's even refused an escort to and from school. She's afraid of being protected.
The police say what happened was probably retaliation for the men she killed two years ago. I want to believe this. But why would such men bring her back?
They tell me images they pulled out of her mind before she regained consciousness, refused to cooperate, made no sense. As if she was in a prison parsecs from here. But she was only gone hours. They want desperately to probe more deeply. It broke my heart to refuse to consent over her refusal. But I couldn't face her panic; the look of betrayal when she thought I might let them take her.
Oh, my poor child. Protecting him. If only . . .
They are suspicious of me. Still suspicious of why I had not reported her disappearance two years ago. God help me, I should have. But I thought . . . The entry trailed off, unfinished.
Because you thought she was with me, he thought. And you thought that was better that her being here. Hard to imagine a universe where that could have been true. After flipping through a few more entries he shut everything down. He helped himself to an apple, full of a sudden desire. More disquieted than ever, slipped into the darkening city.
He found right where her schedule said she'd be, leaving a class in the gathering gloom, pulling a loose robe around herself as she turned down a side street. He fought a wave of irritation at her for walking alone in the dark.
But she was not alone for long. Someone fell into step beside her. He eased back into near invisibility to listen. Wished he could see her face clearly through the hooded robe.
"Told ya I'd be back," the man's voice said smugly, intimately.
"Yeah, you did, Toombs" Jack responded, softly. Her voice, but grown up, careful.
"Ready to go?"
"No, I don't think so," she replied.
"Oh come on. I'll show you the universe."
She kept moving, glanced over at him. "If I wouldn't go with you when I was young and stupid, what makes you think I'll go with you now?"
"'Cause I'm pretty?"
A not-so-feminine snort. "I figured it out, you know. What you were going to do to me. Where I would have ended up."
Silence.
Jack continued, all softness gone. "So you can just fuck off."
Silence again.
"It was just business," the man said finally, quietly. "Why are you protecting this guy anyway?"
She shook her head. "I'm not."
"Oh come on. I studied his profile. He's a killer. I know you're sweet on him, but look, he's got a soft spot for little kids. He's less sentimental about grown women." Toombs leered slightly on the last two words. "You better hope he never gets it in his head to think of you all grown up-like."
She said nothing.
He kept going. "So help me catch him. I'll even give you a nice cut."
After a long pause, she said, quietly, "he's dead, Toombs." Her anger seemed to have faded, replaced by something infinitely sad. "Just give it up."
"Yeah, he died on that planet. You said." His voice was a threat. "But everywhere you go, there's a jump in the homicide rate. Still happenin' You know what that makes me think? Someone who kills recreationally liked hanging around you, likes killing for you."
She stopped. "No." Jack's voice was edged with steel. She turned. There must have been something in her eyes, because Toombs was suddenly afraid. Fear makes people stupid. Riddick started to move forward. But Toombs kept control and kept talking.
"I'm going to tell you a secret, kid. The police think you're the one killing those boys. Good by me; less competition. I think you could've got one or two. But no way a little thing like you could have taken down some of those guys with your little pocket knife. Stone cold professionals three times your size.
"And the powers that be are getting pissed that you've managed, somehow, to keep most this away from the police and the press. The whole fuckin' point was to rough up Riddick's bitch, see if he'd show. Could be we just need more media. Wonder how we could get that? Any ideas?"
"So that's the deal? I help you, or you narc on me?" she said, flatly.
"Pretty much."
"I'll have to take my chances. He's dead. And I haven't done anything wrong."
"You sure, darlin'? Looks funny, you not reporting what, five, six, attacks that left bodies on the ground? Kinda like you're hiding something. And didn't I hear you just spent a week in a hospital? Eighteen broken bones, a concussion, and they had to rebuild parts of you?"
Someone's very dead, Riddick thought.
"I heard you checked out early specifically to avoid police investigators. I heard
you went into a screaming panic when they brought in telepaths, had to be restrained and sedated.
"Sure looks like you're hiding something. And didn't some nice boy get killed in the cross fire? You okay with that on your conscious? I can make it stop. You help me, I protect you."
She was quiet for a moment. "You can't protect me, Toombs," she said, finally. "It's out of your league."
"No one's outta my league, sister," Toombs said, smugly. "Lemme show you."
He started a move that should have ended up with her face smashed against the wall, pinned, helpless. Except she wasn't there.
He rushed at her again, and she simply wasn't there again. This time, she slashed with a familiar knife, cutting clean through his shirt; deliberately – but barely -- touching his skin.
A third attempt ended up with himagainst the wall, the knife just under an ear. "Don't move. This goes through bone like butter."
What the hell is she doing? Riddick wondered. Just kill him already. I should kill him already. But he didn't move, fascinated
Then he realized what she was doing. She was demonstrating to this man that she could have killed that many. She wanted the merc to believe he was dead. She was "still protecting him," as Abu had said. The realization made him feel strange inside.
"Okay, okay" Toombs placated. "Sorry. Ease up."
Jack's voice went low. "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone else. The big secret all you mercs think I've got? This guy you all have a big hard-on for? He got between me and a monster, and he died. Protecting me. And yeah, last time you tried to sweet talk me into coming with you, I was more than a little in love with him, wanted to believe he was alive somewhere. He might have been a monster, but he was my monster. Maybe I still am a little in love with him. That's the big fucking secret. But he's dead. So get the fuck out of my life. Or I will kill you."
There was another long silence. Then, the man's voice was even more serious. "Okay. I believe you." Then his voice was brighter. "And if you ever want a job--"
"Go."
There was a pause. Then Toombs walked away. After a moment, Jack did too, again pulling her robe around her tightly. Riddick followed the mercenary, toying with killing him, toying with checking out how her plan worked.
Toombs went back to the space port, and was confronted by armed men. Teammates. One asked, confrontationally, "did she give up anything this time?"
"No," Toombs grumbled. "Ice bitch. She still says he's dead. I still think she's holding out."
One of the smarter looking men in the group rolled his eyes. "Look, if the brain boys back at the guild were right that he was going to show if someone roughed up that little girl, don't you think he would have by now? Look, it's been two years since she got grabbed the first time. She's been beaten unconscious, hospitalized, and gang raped. Anyone paying attention would know. He hasn't shown. So either he's dead or he doesn't care. As far as I can tell, she's just thinning the herd of teams dumb enough to come after her undermanned. If he's here and killing the crews, he's got a weird sense of humor to not just take her out of here."
"Fuck." Toombs said. Then he sighed. "It's bad money after bad. Call the boys back. We're goin' after easier folks to find."
Riddick watched until the ship actually took off, full of grumbling, but oddly relieved men. Then he watched a little longer to see if they came back.