Title: "Chapter One: Prophecy"
Author: Lane
Word count: 5,950
Rating: PG-13. Language and some violence.
Summary: Set directly after tCoR. A new Lord Marshal has been crowned, a plan has come unraveled and the past reveals itself. Riddick, Aereon, Dame Vaako, Wurmkast, Toombs, Logan. But not all at once.
--------------------------------------------
Please read and review. Constructive criticism, comments, congratulations are all welcome. I'm also looking for a beta reader so please, feel free to post if you're willing to be my editor/guinea pig.
There was a time when things had been a lot simpler. Invading armies, worlds being taken over, Necromongers, Furyans, Elementals – it was all just a bit too complicated for Riddick's tastes. He liked the world better when it was black and white, good and bad, hunter and prey. But now, well, now it was nothing but shades of grey.
As he walked he could hear whispers following along behind him, the murmurs of the hordes of Necromongers watching in awe of their new Lord Marshal.
"...A Furyan..."
"...Chosen to ascend the throne..."
"...Fulfilled the prophecy..."
"...Holier than Vaako..."
"...The new prophet..."
He paused in his walk and turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at the group of men and women behind him. A few of them caught his eye and looked immediately ashamed. Humbly they bowed and backed away before scurrying off like schoolchildren in fear of their headmaster's whip. Part of him reveled in the newfound power, at the smell of fear and worry that washed off of every form he passed by. He had defeated a man who was both revered and reviled across the galaxy and had been chosen, as they said, to ascend the throne. Then again, part of him was disgusted by the very thought of what he had become.
It hadn't always been like this, he considered as he walked out of the Necropolis proper and through the convoluted corridors that lead to his chambers. Despite what his visions had said, despite the words of Aereon, he had not been born a killer. An old friend of his once said that no being was born truly evil, they were made that way through years of practice. Those words had always rung true with him; maybe that was why he had a soft spot for children. The part of him that remembered what it was like to be innocent, hopeful and naïve was still in there somewhere. It had just been hidden away under years of dirt and blood.
He swung the doors to his chambers open and walked inside to see the elemental woman already standing there. A scowl darkened his features as he shut the doors behind him and moved directly towards the flowing creature.
"Your people speak of you with great reverence, Lord Marshal," Aereon said as she took a step back from him, her elegant white gown moving gracefully about her form.
"Soon as we reach Ursa Luna I want you off of this ship," he said, not acknowledging her prior comment. His silvered gaze was cold and the set of his jaw showed that he would brook no argument. The elemental nodded her head slightly as if in acquiescence, yet that faint, almost coy smile continued to play about her lips. For a second longer he stared at her, trying to read what her intentions with him were. But although the woman before him appeared to be transparent she hid whatever her thoughts were very, very well. At last he turned and stalked away from her, moving from the antechamber deeper into his suite of rooms.
"You have fulfilled their prophecies, you know," Aereon said, continuing to follow him, bone white hair trailing along with her robes. "They will worship you stronger than any of the prior Lord Marshals because of that. Your ascension and Zhylaw's destruction will be a catalyst amongst the faithful."
Riddick kept his back to her and ignored her words, beginning the task of removing the armor that he still wore. Had it been only a few hours since the incident had occurred? It seemed as though it had been days ago that he had ordered the Purifiers, priests of the faith, to take Kyra's body and prepare to lay it to rest. As he stripped the dark breastplate from his body and tossed it unceremoniously to the ground he remembered the way her fragile form had crumpled on the Necropolis floor. Dead. Her life destroyed like every other being he had ever touched. Years ago he would have mourned the passing of the young girl whose life he had once saved. These days it just made him feel cold.
"They will be stronger now, Riddick," Aereon pressed, coming closer to him. "More fervent in their beliefs. And you have the opportunity to use that fervor, that zealotry to change the galaxy." He could feel a slight breeze rise on the back of his shoulders where the woman stood behind him. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost a whisper of wind. "You have at your disposal a powerful army that could be like a great weapon to mete out justice and put all the stars at balance..."
When he swung around and grasped a hold of the Elemental's throat her eyes widened just long enough to please the beast in him. "So you are capable of fear," he muttered, leaning closer. She smelled of nothing but air and cleanliness and he realized that perhaps that was one of the reasons the woman annoyed him so much. It was almost as though she wasn't even on the same plane of existence as her surroundings. Wonder if she bleeds air, the beast inside of him mused and he found himself chuckling at that thought.
"I am capable of as many emotions as you are, Furyan," Aereon replied back to him coolly, her wintry exterior once more in place. She used the word, the name of his race, like a curse; as though it was a dirty thought that made her unclean to speak aloud. "And just as you do, I keep them hidden well away. We all have weaknesses. Chinks in our armor. It is simply a matter of whether we choose to expose them to our enemies."
Riddick shoved the woman away from him and glared at her as she stumbled once before regaining her graceful composure. "Every weakness I ever had is long dead so don't even begin to think you can manipulate me, Aereon," he said, his voice low and deadly. "You and your people can scheme and calculate all you want and you'll never figure out what makes me tick. You don't know shit about me and you never will." He pointed at her to emphasize his words. "I don't give a rat's ass about your planet, about this galaxy or about whatever you think you can convince me to do with this army of fucking lunatics. You want to balance out the galaxy, do it on your own time. I do not fucking care." He paused to let his declaration sink in. "Now leave."
The woman merely bowed and turned, gliding away. Riddick turned as well, continuing to remove the guards on his arms.
"You are wrong in one thing, Riddick," Aereon said, her voice still calm and light despite their altercation. "Not all of your weaknesses are gone. There are some which live on. After all, it is quite difficult to destroy madness."
Riddick turned around quickly but saw nothing except an empty room with closed doors. "Fucking prophets," he muttered under his breath, discarding the rest of the Necromonger armor he wore.
--------------------------------------------
"There must be more information about him," Dame Vaako murmured as she looked back over the recordings of the Quasi-dead session for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Even though most of the basilica's residents were deep in the meditative sleep of the Necromongers, she could not rest. Each time she closed her eyes all she could see was the former Lord Marshal's body and soul moving as he chose his successor to the throne. A Furyan. A Breeder. A convict whose only thought in life was of his own survival. He cared nothing of the faith or the great voyage to Underverse. He had not even replenished the troops or destroyed the world in their wake. He had sympathy for the humans who remained on that planet and that thought alone made her quake with fury.
For years she had worked to make certain her husband would be named the successor to Lord Zhylaw. She had bargained and manipulated, making certain that other favorites were conveniently sent out onto the front lines of battle or convicted of treason. She had given favors to those who were willing to help her and had even performed certain indiscretions that her husband would never know of. All of these things she had done in the hopes of one day seeing him upon that throne, all of members of the faith bowing before him. And then, when that day came, she would take her place at his right hand and would rule the galaxy through him.
For although her husband was a strong warrior and a beacon of the faith, he was a spineless coward compared to his wife.
Dame Vaako sank back into the chair before the data screen that she looked over. Reaching out, she dragged her finger across the screen and started the recording over once more, listening carefully to what was said.
There had been a bounty out on him. That had been the reason he came to New Mecca in the first place. He had been in several different slams before and broken out multiple times as well. Surely someone in the penal system or the Hunter's Guild would know more about this man who had destroyed her well laid plans.
Long ago, when she had been one of those pitiable creatures, one of the fully living beings whom she so despised, Dame Vaako had been a woman with many connections. However, in her years of service to her husband and the Lord Marshal's cause she had never drawn upon those things of her past. For one, she had never needed to; of what use was information of the living galaxy to those who were beyond such things? But she had also grown distasteful of dealing with humans and the living races.
There was a certain smell and a heat that came from a Breeding man or woman which made her lips curl in disgust. She was above such things. She was enlightened. Like Pygmalion reversed, she had started out human and become something better: a statue of beauty and strength to be worshiped. In her near-death state she had ascended from the mortal plane and, for that very reason, she worshiped the cause wholly. It was for this reason that she absolutely must make certain that the Necromonger faith remained pure and untouched by this Breeder. For destroying her plans, she would make him suffer.
Plans needed to be laid. New plans. This would mean something she had not done in years – contact the world outside the hallowed halls of the Necropolis. If she was lucky then her old sources would still be alive. Lucky? No. If she were blessed. Luck was for mortals.
She reached out and paused the recording, staring at the still frame of the man struggling against the Quasi-Deads. Leaning back in her chair she steepled her fingers together and continued to study the image, enjoying the look of torment on his face. Slowly she smiled and closed her eyes, burning the sight into her memory.
Death would be too good for him. Death was a release from all pain and worldliness. By the time Dame Vaako was finished with him, he would be begging for the Underverse.
--------------------------------------------
Wurmkast laughed as he looked at the man in the tiny cage, his voice echoed by the laughter of his crew.
"I think perhaps that he has found his home, no?" The thin, pale merc said, grinning broadly. All around him the hellhounds snarled and growled, trying to snap at the men in the kenneling room. For his own part Toombs just offered a one finger salute and an unamused frown.
"How bout you shut the fuck up and let me out of here, Wurm," he replied, his own voice close to a growl.
Wurmkast was not a large man, perhaps only 5'9" tall, but that slight stature was belied by a great sense of power. Lean and long-limbed, he moved and looked like a tiger stalking its prey. But it was his pallid complexion and almost ivory colored hair that truly made him stand out. His eyes were so pale a blue that many who met him thought him to be blind; he sometimes perpetuated this rumor by wearing a thin black strip of fabric across his eyes and carrying a walking cane to Guild meetings. Among many in the galaxy he had earned the nickname of "Geist" along with a reputation for madness and cold efficiency.
"But you look so comfortable," Wurmkast said, continuing to smirk at Toombs. His words were thick with an accent of some sort, a hint of his privileged upbringing on Earth. "It must be like seeing your mother all over again."
"Why you son of a..." Toombs lunged forward, causing his cage to shake. This only excited the hellhounds more, causing the creatures to lift up their snouts and begin to howl. Wurmkast and his crew began to laugh again and the ghostly man leaned his head to join the creatures in their howling. That is one crazy mutherfucker, Toombs thought as he leaned back again.
But crazy or not, Wurm was his only way out of here. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in this cage, maybe two days, maybe more, but he knew that despite his brave show he was in bad condition. Dehydrated, malnourished, scratched up by those damn hellhounds. Hell, he was lucky to be alive at all. Given Riddick's history with mercs, Toombs was surprised the man hadn't just ghosted him on sight.
"In our field of work there are a limited number of paydays worth the cost of the chase," Wurm said, sinking down onto his haunches before Toombs' cage. "But there seems to be an infinite number of mercenaries trying to get rich off of them. The way I see it, you are a competitor. You are one more person in between me and my next big score. So, why don't you give me one good reason why I should let you out of here, Toombs? Why in the hell shouldn't I just leave you in here to rot?"
"Because I know where the biggest bounty this side of the galaxy is and where he's heading to," Toombs said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. "And if you get me out of here then I'll be more than willing to cut you in on the chase."
Wurm laughed and stood up straight, brushing dirt off of his brown leather pants. "Oh really?" He asked, looking around at his comrades with a cocky grin. "And just how much is this bounty for?"
"One point five million big ones," Toombs replied, staring directly at him. The laughter that the crewmen had been sharing died down quickly and even the pale merc turned to look at the captive with a new curiosity.
"No one offers that much of a bounty," he said, crossing his arms. "Who is this on? And why haven't I heard of it?"
"Well, maybe you just ain't got your Guild dues in on time, pretty boy," Toombs said and smirked. "Or maybe the Guild got wise on the fact that you've ghosted as many mercs as the convicts." Wurm's eyes narrowed almost imperceptably at the accusation but that was enough for Toombs to notice it. So the rumors were true, he thought as he sat back in his cage, keeping up the cool facade. It had been talked about for years that Wurm's rivals had an alarming propensity for ending up dead at the hands of bounties they were chasing but no one in the Guild was ever able to pin anything on him. Regardless, he was dangerous and Toombs was taking a huge chance by putting any amount of faith in him now. Not that he had much of a choice in the matter.
"Perhaps my systems have merely been misinformed," Wurm said, scratching idly at a small, silvery pink scar on the side of his mouth. "Tell me more about this bounty."
"Nu-uh," Toombs said, shaking his head. "No more info until you let me out of here and promise to drop me off on the next civilized world."
"Perhaps if you do not tell me I will leave you here to rot," Wurm murmured, his voice quiet as he stared at the caged man, clearly trying to read him. The Earther might be good, but Toombs hadn't lived this long without being able to keep up a bluff either.
"That's a chance I'm willing to take, sweetheart," he replied in a flippant tone.
Wurmkast fell silent for a moment, considering the deal. He also considered the man before him, sitting in the tiny cage. He had no love lost for Toombs. He had meant what he said about competition; outside of his small, well-trained crew, Wurm had little use for other mercs and would just as soon ghost another member of the profession as he would a convict. But Toombs was in a desperate situation and he could see right through his act. The man smelled wretched and looked even worse. He'd probably been here for a few days at least judging by the thinness of the beasts around him. Whatever happened to the Russians wasn't good and, without them around to keep order down below, the whole slam had probably devolved into a free for all.
There was a chance that Toombs could be lying to him, but it was slim. The other mercenary would probably trade in his own mother for freedom at this point. Besides, if he was lying, then Wurmkast could always just space him and no one would be the wiser for it.
"Very well," Wurm said and motioned for one of his boys to unlock the cage. "We will let you out and carry you to Helion Prime. In exchange for this you will give us all the information you have on this payday. This is understood?"
"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. Just get me out of this hell hole," Toombs said. He didn't trust Wurm as far as he could throw him, but with his skiff gone and his crew wasted, he didn't see much of a choice otherwise.
It took a few minutes to get the lock off of the cage, but at last Toombs was free, albeit a little bit shaky on his feet. He shrugged it off though, doing his best to keep up the stone cold facade and act like it was all cool. And yet he still couldn't shrug the nagging feeling that this was all just another part of an elaborate setup.
"So why the hell are you ladies down here anyway?" He asked Wurmkast as the pale man began to lead them out of the belly of the slam. "Come to cash in and found out that the bank had already been robbed?"
"Not exactly," Wurm said, walking ahead of the group, a large shotgun slung over his shoulder. "There was a distress signal coming from the tower. Yorgi, one of the guards, was a comrade of mine and, as we were in the neighborhood, we decided to check on the situation. All we found were a bunch of dead bodies, some damage to the tower and your sorry ass." He paused. "Oh, and a woman." He turned to glance at Toombs. "I believe she is one of yours, no?"
Toombs' eyebrows raised in surprise. "Logan's alive still, eh?" He asked, both shocked and slightly relieved. She had seemed like a good kid when he took her on crew, he would have hated the thought of her dying like the others.
"Oh yes, very much so," Wurm replied, continuing to walk until at last they reached the main room of the tower. He pointed towards the control console that looked as though it had been torn open and rewired. "She was the one who rigged the signal up." He smirked smugly and reached out to pat Toombs' face in a condescending manner. "Looks like you got saved by a little girl, Toombs."
This set off another round of raucous laughter as they rounded the corner into the long corridor that lead to the surface. There in the passage laid Eve Logan, looking a little bit worse for wear but at least alive and in one piece. She was laid out on a stretcher next to a large woman who reminded him suspiciously of a former pilot of his named Daisy.
"You look like shit, Logan," Toombs rasped. The woman smiled up at him weakly.
"And you smell like it," she returned before looking back at the merc playing nurse to her wounds.
"She will be alright," the female merc said to Wurmkast and Toombs. "But she is hurting. We will have to carry her to the ship."
"Krieg, Spencer," Wurm called out and two men stepped forward. "Why don't you carry the pretty lady to her suite?" The men mumbled something to their captain in a foreign language and nodded, picking up either end of the stretcher. Then, with Wurm in the lead, they began the long trek back towards the hangar.
"You owe me one, Toombs," Logan said quietly as he walked along side of her. The man reached down briefly to touch the hand of the only remaining member of his crew and nodded.
"I owe you a helluva lot more than that," he mumbled and gave her a lopsided smirk. The worst part was that he knew just how true that statement was.
The trek up through the tunnel was no small journey. Even if he had been in perfect shape Toombs would have been panting by the time they reached the hangar. But with no food for several days and only the water that he had bummed off the other mercs, he wasn't certain he would make it at all. When they finally reached the end of the passageway he thought he would never be so happy to see the beginnings of a sunrise on Crematoria. Well, he thought, at least I won't have to worry about this run any more.
The sight of Wurmkast's ship did nothing to help Toombs' disposition. The craft was a midsized Helion model that looked as if it had just rolled off the assembly line. Except that the heavy cannons in the fore and aft that peeked out unassumingly from beneath the craft were definitely not standard. Sleek, shiny and dripping with chromed metal, the vessel just cemented his hatred of the other merc. He'd lost two skiffs in as many weeks to the same goddamn convict and seeing this smug bastard showing off his bright new toy made the man green with envy. If he ever had the opportunity, Toombs swore to himself that he'd make a true geist out of the blue blooded Earther.
Inside, the craft was as swanky as the exterior; clean as a military vessel but with a whole lot more headway. As the crew made their way into the ship Wurmkast stopped just inside the door and held his arm across the threshold, barring Toombs from entering. In the distance he could feel the sun beginning to rise over the horizon and just the thought of it was enough to make the back of his neck break into a sweat.
"Tell me more about this bounty," Wurm said. Positioned as he was on the inside of the ship with Toombs still on the bay door the pale man was now able to look down ever so slightly at his quarry.
"I'll tell you about it once we're in the air," Toombs said, moving to brush past him. Wurm moved to intercept the taller man and gave him a cold, hard stare that spoke volumes. One hand remained on the door of the vessel while his other hand rested lightly on his hip. Toombs glanced down briefly and noticed the large gun there. The muscles in his jaw drew tight and he glared at Wurm as though he could eat him alive.
"I think that you will tell me now," Wurmkast said, his voice never rising. If he was the least bit concerned about the approaching VTF, he wasn't showing it. Hell, he wasn't even sweating.
Toombs licked his lips. "Helion Prime," he said tightly, jaws still clenched. "Your bounty was headed to Helion Prime. Same place as where the payout's coming from. Private party, and before you ask, no, I don't know who it is. Info gave a means of contact but not much more." He held his hands apart. "Now let me on board. It's gettin' a little warm out here."
Casually Wurmkast looked towards the horizon and then back down at Toombs, tilting his head to the side. "What is his name, hm?" He asked, still not moving.
Toombs growled and stepped closer to Wurm, mindless of the weapon on his hip. He had been jerked around enough over the last month to last a lifetime and he'd be goddamned if he was going to let some cocky little albino midget piss all over him. "Richard B. Riddick's his name," he said, his face so close to Wurm's that their noses almost touched. "Now, if you don't let me on this goddamned ship and take me and my crewmate to Helion Prime then there won't be any of us leaving this piece of shit planet, you hear me?"
Slowly Wurm smiled and removed his arm from the doorway. "Please, come inside," he said and turned to walk off further into the ship. "I will consider you and your woman my guest. Make yourselves comfortable. Alicia will set up a bed for you."
Toombs walked inside at last and exhaled in relief for the first time in days. He closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead, rubbing away the ache of stress, hunger and fatigue.
"Oh, and Toombs?" Wurm's voice could still be heard even though he had rounded the corner. "Your woman is right. You do smell like shit."
Toombs just grumbled and flicked him off before stalking away in the opposite direction.
One of the small cabins in the ship had apparently been set aside for Toombs and Logan as the only two women on the flight were already inside there. The woman, presumably the Alicia whom Wurm had referred to, sat on the bed next to Eve who had been rolled over onto her side. The remains of Eve's shirt had been cut clear up the back to reveal the damage underneath, which Alicia was currently investigating. A witty comment sprung to his mind at the sight of two women sitting on the same bed together but, given the large gash and deep purple and green bruise covering most of Eve's torso, he figured he ought to keep his mouth shut if he planned to survive the night.
"Well," the tall blonde woman said, pausing briefly to glance up at Toombs as he entered the room. "You don't have any infection around your wound and whatever internal bleeding you had seems to have stopped. No broken bones, although I suspect one of your ribs may be bruised. All in all I'd say you're one lucky gal," she surmised, smiling a little bit. "I think we've got some antibiotics and enough meds to keep the swelling down and help you heal faster. You're just going to have to stay off your feet for a few days."
"She's one tough bitch, alright," the lone man said. Both of them women grew silent and then Eve chuckled quietly.
"That's the closest to a compliment I'm gonna get," she murmured to her nurse who just smirked at her. Toombs rolled his eyes and sat down on the narrow cot across from the one they sat on. He could barely feel the ship moving beneath them and realized that they were probably out of the atmosphere by now. I have got to get me one of these, he thought as he lay back against the cot. Suddenly a wave of exhaustion came over him and he realized just how much he had been through in the last few days. Closing his eyes he gave in to sleep at last.
When at last he woke up he could see Logan across the way staring at him. Yawning, he rubbed at his face, scratching at the scruff that had grown in.
"How long I been asleep?" He mumbled.
"You've been snoring for about twelve hours, I'd reckon," Eve replied. She wore a different shirt now but she was still laid on her stomach to keep pressure off of her back. "I thought you were dead," she said, her voice quiet.
"Yeah, same for you, kid," he said, sitting up straight. "How is it that we both got left alive by one of the baddest mutherfuckers in the galaxy when he could have easily ghosted our asses back on that rock?"
Logan shook her head, a frown forming on her features. "That's what I've been trying to figure out the last few days," she murmured before turning to lie on her side with her back towards him. Toombs stared at the curve of her back for a long time but he still couldn't shake that question from his brain.
Elsewhere in the ship another man sat awake in the cockpit, staring blankly down at the screen of information downloaded from the Mercenary's Guild. The 3D image of the killer rotated slowly on the panel before the man's eyes along with all known information about him. Above it all in yellow letters was a single line, "Wanted: Richard B. Riddick."
It had been years since Marcus Wurmkast had heard that name. The last he had heard Riddick had been declared dead in a shipwreck on some backwater planet along with that golden boy asshole Johns. He took a long drag off of his cigarette and held the smoke in before slowly exhaling in the direction of the screen he stared at. The picture from New Mecca was at least five years old, but Wurmkast would bet that the man hadn't changed all that much since then. With the exception of those shiny new goggles and a few more creases around his mouth the dark skinned convict looked exactly the way he remembered him.
Back in the day Richard had been the pride and joy of the Strikeforce, the youngest gunnery sergeant ever assigned to serve in the Strikeforce squad. He was good with a gun but better with a knife; an excellent survivalist, tactician and a charismatic leader par none. Everyone in the corps on Sigma 3 knew his name and his laugh. He was the sort of soldier that a man wanted watching his back in the middle of a firefight and the type of man that women would swoon over. Even in those days Marcus couldn't stand him.
Marcus had been raised by a wealthy family on Earth that came from old money. When The Company had first been created, the Wurmkasts were among the original investors, helping to send mankind to new worlds and systems. They had gained a fortune by investing in bright new futures, planets rich in minerals, worlds with clean air, and then harvesting those resources with cheap labor. So when Marcus graduated with top honors from the Berlin Military Academy it was expected that he would slip easily into an officer's position somewhere in The Company's military division. Handsome, rich and educated, he had been given everything life had to offer. A cushy job on Sigma 3 was simply expected.
There was always a bit of a rivalry between the pair even when they were comrades. He would not go so far as to say that they were ever truly friends; Richard was an orphan who had worked his way up in the Company ranks and a bit too coarse for Marcus' tastes. But still Wurmkast regarded him with a sense of noblesse oblige, even when it became clear that he was sleeping with another member of the squad. He hated the way they looked at each other when they thought no one else was watching and how everyone else at the base overlooked their indiscretions. When Richard was chosen over Marcus for the promotion to squad leader, well, that was the final insult.
It took two years to get enough dirt on him to plan his attack but Wurmcast was a patient man. It was Corvus who gave him the ammo he needed to take down his rival, even though their squad mate never knew as such. One night when he had been out drinking Corvus returned to the base babbling about some secret Riddick had found out, something terrible The Company was involved in, and how he was planning to stop them from doing it. A little bit of footwork was all it took to find out what it was some of the Strikeforce had tripped over - experimental DNA procedures being tested on slaves in the Newtonian Institute. Apparently their "noble leader" had become so incensed at what he saw that he had loudly threatened to blow the story to the Inter Galactic Media, a move that would surely bring The Company under fire by the Tabula Prima. Marcus thought of his family, the money and time they had invested in The Company, the good which had been done across the galaxy, and he became livid at the thought of all of it being sacrificed by the self-righteousness of a single man.
Without telling any of his squadmates, Marcus went to the highest ranking officer on the base. His familial connections had given him certain rights outside the chain of command and so it was easy to make certain that the correct people knew of Riddick's plan. Two days later, when the MPs came for him with charges of corporate espionage and plotting to kill a commanding officer, Wurmkast looked as shocked as everyone else. But by the time Richard was court-martialed and sent to a max sec slam, well, he remembered smiling a little bit as he watched them lead his former Sergeant out of the courtroom in chains.
After that Marcus was given a much better promotion as leader of his own squad on a far more civilized world. When he finally retired from military life it was with full honors as a decorated veteran and with enough of a pension to hire the finest damn crew of mercs the Guild had ever seen. He no longer needed to rely on his family's name or fortune. He had built his own.
Sitting back, he propped his boot up against the console and brushed off a fleck of ash on its polished surface. He was more than willing to take the hit by turning this bounty in dead. It would be well worth it to be able to physically plunge his knife into the back of his old enemy.
