I must thank shadowoftheblackdeat, Alyce DreamEater and Kihlala Sisters for their kind reviews. Hugs to you guys!
In this chapter, we finally see Riddick! What has long been awaited has finally come!
-x-x-x-
Unfortunatly, we do find some corpses. Remember those strange bullets that had been cutting through the walls of the ship while I had been helping the captain out of his plexiglass coffin? Well, it seems like some of them cut through the coffins of some other passengers. There are two bodies - one is a young woman, asian by the looks of it, and with a slightly crooked nose. The other one is a man, with light skin and sandy hair. He looks like he could have been an attractive man, had he been alive.
Two men start making a makeshift bed of some kind, with handles they can grasp. They place the bodies on them, and stand up. One of them, an old black man in his fifties, has a shovel in hand. The other one, a younger man that looks distinctively like the first, has a pick-axe. What is it for? Hitting people?
Together, they carry the bodies away, and I follow them, lacking anything else to do. They don't say anything against my presence, so I think that means I am allowed to come. We walk for five-ten minutes, until we arrive at a part of the desert with many big rocks and monoliths (or are they called polyliths, since there are several?) that form small hills and walls here and there.
It doesn't change that much from the environment around the ship, but still, better than nothing, right?
And I finally discover what the pick-axe is for.
The two men start digging. The tall man does so with a proper shovel, but the younger one uses the pick-axe.
It's peculiar, this is. I'm supposed to be in a futuristic world, and yet, from what I've seen, a lot of the technology is recognizable from my own time. I'd have thought that something would've been invented, capable of digging holes in a matter of seconds, so you do not need to do it yourself.
Anyway, I am bored after a while of watching them dig, and I really, truly wish to return to the spaceship (Hee-hee, am I going insane, considering how accepting I am of the situation? Really, a spaceship) except my sense of direction is amongst the worst you can find, especially when I truly need it, and I'm convinced I will end up lost in the desert if I venture out alone.
So I am pretty much forced to wait as they dig what are evidently graves for the two dead bodies. Once it is done, they don't bother saying anything, or adding an Amen or offering a minute of silence. They just dump the bodies in. I think that in this place, this world, this time, people probably don't view religion as people do in my time. For example, in the Middle Ages, everyone was devout. Now, many people don't believe in anything at all. It is not surprising that in the 'future', people would loose most of their faith. So that is why I say nothing about the lack of respect. It could be worse. For example, they could have left the bodies to rot, without a proper burial or cremation.
At least people here aren't savages. Imagine, I could have ended up in the distant past, and that would not have been fun.
As I have said, they dump the bodies in without saying much. They put some of the dry earth back on top of the bodies, but don't make much of an effort to fill the graves. Instead, they set up a sort of tent-like cover to protect the bodies from the sun. They probably do not want any bodies to rot.
I try not to think about the fact that they haven't filled the graves because they are probably expecting more bodies to pop up.
We walk back towards the ship. The younger man is drinking a lot of water, and I can see beads of sweat clinging to his face. Digging graves must be exhausting. He looks nice. He reminds me of a guy in my school class, back at home. But this man's skin is dark, and his hair is cut extremely short, to the point that you might believe him bald, and of course, he looks older than me. Probably in his late twenties.
The older man isn't drinking. He's simply drawing oxygen from the cylindrical end of his metal tube (one of those I carried over to Carolyn Fry).
Once we're back at the site of the landing of the spaceship, the two black skinned men leave without saying anything to me. I feel a bit offended at that, because even though I did not help them with the digging, I was still there, and I would have thought they'd acknowledge me. But I do not say anything, and instead decide to go inside the ship. It's very hot outside, and I'd rather just stay inside where the shade is.
Most people aren't doing that. They are these deckchairs with people on them, placed just about everywhere. Some people are on towels, lying on the ground,w ith sunglasses on, sleeping under the sun. Others, dressed like the captain and the Carolyn Fry woman (some sort of employees working as part of the ship's crew?), are walking around, serving drinks and snacks to the people lounging about.
The drinks are very colourful and bright, but I do not ask for any, fearing that there might be alcohol in them. Despite beign eighteen, and of legal age to drink alcohol in my country, I do not indulge in drinking. I've always disliked the taste of alcohol drinks of any kind. The only one I like is a drink called Pastis, because it has a taste that reminds me of licorice, which is one of my favourite sweets.
I pass by some of the stewards (or waiters?) serving refreshments, and I enter the ship.
The spaceship is really quite large, and there is a lot to see. I go from room to room, and I notice that most of them are chambers filled with the see-through coffins. I return to the navigation bay, where, if you'll remember, the captain was when he landed the ship. The navigation bay possesses all of the ship's controls.
Speaking of, the captain is here. He's speaking into a radio I think, or perhaps a phone. He might be talking to someone or calling for help, for someone to come retrieve us? Well, who knows. I'm lost in the middle of no where, or at least, somewhere I am unfamiliar with, surrounded by people I do not know, and I have no money nor food. Even if we manage to leave this terribly hot planet, I am sure that where we'll end up will not be much bettter, considering I don't even have any ID or proof I exist here.
I leave the captain to his conversation with whoever is on the other side of the line, and continue along the different rooms.
There are some more chambers filled with coffins, and I must admit I am starting to become bored of them. So, when I see a little door off to the side of one of the chambers, a door that wasn't in the other rooms, I open it and find myself in a room filled with hanging cables and machinery. I think it's not supposed to be accessible to visitors. This room is where all the inside bits of the ship are, and is probably only a place where engineers are allowed.
I should leave, really. But at that very moment, I hear noise. As I approach, I realize it is not exactly noise, but a voice. A male voice.
I do not know who it belongs to. I do not speak English, which everyone seems to here, and I do not know anybody well enough. I don't think I'd be able to recognize the voice of the captain or of Caroly Fry is they were to talk nearby, but without be seeing it was them.
Slowly, I inch forward.
The voice doesn't seem very nice. It has a quality to it that reminds me of bullies, of downright mean people. It's as if this voice, this person speaking is taunting someone.
I peek over a large rectangular metallic box that has wires coming out of it, and I see a familiar blonde man. It's the one I saw come out of his coffin earlier, while the ship was falling towas the planet we're now on. He's the one that had been staring in a really intense way at the slave, tied up and gagged.
As I look closer, I notice that the blonde man is actually talking to said slave. What a coincidence! The slave is no longer in his coffin. Instead, he's been tied up again a steel collumn. I Wonder if I should do anything. I see that the blonde man is still talkin, and it looks like he receives a sick pleasure out of talking like that to the slave. From what I understand of the situation, he's either insulting the gagged man, or using the fact that he is free, unlike the slave, to mock the poor man.
It continues like that for a few moments, until the blonde one stops speaking. I then realize that he is heading towards me. His intention is to leave the room, because apparently he's done doing whatever he was doing.
Quickly, I open the door, happy it's well oiled and silent. I close it behind me and hide in one of the coffins. They are made of glass, meaning they don't hide me at all, but even if the blonde man sees me, he'd probably think I'm a kid having fun fooling around with them, and not someone who just spend five minutes spying on him.
Luckily for me, he comes out and doesn't bother looking around himself for other people. He just continues towards the general direction of the way out of the ship. Once I'm sure he's gone, I get out of the big coffin and head back towards the door the blond man has just come out of . I place my hand on the handle of the door, and wonder:
Should I go in? Or should I not?
Finally, after looking left and right, I decide to enter the room. i am careful to not make any unnecessary noise. I'm not sure I'm allowed to go in here. I close the door behind me and let my eyes adjust to the level of lighting. I step forward, weaving between different boxes, bits of machinery and tangles of wires until I arrive near the tied-up man. He doesn't say anything. He simply cocks his head to the side.
I would have been surprised if he said anything, considering he's still gagged. At best, he can emit a grunt or two.
Poor man.
If I could, I would have undone his bindings to let him go free. Unfortunately he is in shackles and I do not have any way of helping him with that. Also, I'd rather no one be angry at me if I let a random slave regain freedom. After all, he doesn't belong to me.
I wonder if he's even been fed, or if any water was given to him. Considering the fact that most people were given these oxygen tanks things… and, it's obvious this ma isn't wearing one. He can't exactly wear one easily with how restrained he his.
Is he thirsty? Does anyone even care? I cannot speak English, I know, but there are some words that I know. I decide to use one of them in an attempt to communicate.
"Hello," I say.
What? Don't look at me like that! I never claimed to be the most loquacious individual around!
Of course, he doesn't answer my meagre attempt at conversation. It's not like he can.
I walk towards him and use some more of my rudimentary English.
"You okay?" I ask.
I zip open my bag and retrieve a bottle of water. The bag, as you can remember, contains water and school effects.
Carefully, I open the bottle and approach the man. He doesn't move, so I figure it's okay. I bring the water to his face. Knowing I don't want to frighten the poor guy, I offer him a warning:
"Watuhr."
Gosh, my accent must be horrendous.
And then, I pour some of the contents of my bottle on his nose, lips and on the bit hindering his ability to talk. I can see he's grateful, because he moves his lips a bit, hopefully to catch more water.
He looks a bit frightening, with the grimace to bit forces onto his face.
After I've given him about a quarter of my bottle, I stop pouring and close it, turning the lid to ensure nothing comes out and soaks my bag.
And then I say:
"Good now."
As you can see (and hear), my English is distinctively and definitively unimpressive. I used to have a better level, but I didn't really continue working on my English much, due to being very occupied these last years. I never bothered to listen to or read anything English, and my skills in the language have deteriorated because of that.
Since the man has had enough, I feel a bit better, knowing that despite how terrible this guy's life must be as a slave, at least he has received something to drink. He will not be dying of dehydration.
"Bye-bye," I tell him, and leave.
Of course, I could be wrong, and he might not be a slave, but I find it very unlikely. The only other reason he could be tied up is if he is a prisoner, and no sane person would keep a prisoner amongst civilians, on a spaceship that looks like it's for tourists. That's like a policeman taking a criminal to jail in a public transportation, instead of a police car! This world is obviously futuristic, so even if this man was a criminal or some sort of traitor or super-spy, I don't believe he would have been kept near normal people, on this vessel. So that is how I know that he must be a slave – it is not unheard of, in sci-fi stories, to have slavery making a come-back.
It makes sense. So why do I have this sinking feeling that I did something I shouldn't have?