31. Something Indescribable

Zemma woke up alone, again. She didn't like it, didn't want to get used to it, ag…

She shut off the voice that kept accentuating that this wasn't the first time Riddick had become unfathomably distant. 'Nature of the beast' wasn't helping her understand. 'Tiger, Tiger" wasn't helping her deal with it. She didn't have Jaron to ask for advice.

Don was out of the question. He was treating her respectfully, which she cherished, because, well, he was Don. But she couldn't talk to him about her relationship with Riddick, because, well, he was Don. Her mind just kept whirling around the impossibilities of trying to talk to him about something so personal. So, it took her a few minutes to realize the obvious.

Jack. She could talk to Jack! Should she talk to Jack? She wasn't sure. She didn't think Riddick would like it, but right now he didn't seem to like anything. More importantly though, would it be fair to Jack? How wrapped up in her childhood hero was she now?

Zemma decided to risk at least the start of a conversation with Jack about Riddick. She showered and dressed and headed for the galley. Jack would be off shift by now.

Jack was asleep at the table when Zemma got there. She decided to let the girl nap a little, while she choked down some breakfast. She sighed wistfully, wishing Don would cook more often. He and Riddick seemed to be awfully preoccupied, though. She wondered where Riddick was right now.

She heard footsteps coming down the corridor and her heart jumped a little at the sound. She thought she was probably being foolish, but she would be glad to have another chance to…

The rhythm wasn't right, and Don, not Riddick, walked into the galley. He nodded to her and even said good morning. Zemma smiled back at him, wondering why he wasn't glued to his chair on the bridge deck. He made some tea, contemplating Jack's back. Zemma didn't like the look on his face: lessons would start early today.

So much for a heart to heart with Jack.

Don cleared his throat, Jack didn't move. Zemma just waited. He did it again, a little louder, as he walked up behind her. Jack slept on, snoring slightly. Zemma wished she could warn the girl, but while Jaron had never taken this exact approach with her, she understood it. Jaron had tested the speed of Zemma's mind, knowing her Furyan reflexes could be trained up. Don had the more daunting task of training Jack beyond her abilities...

…To make her a better predator.

Zemma knew something about predators; Nor slept lightly, her speed and strength always only half a second from being released, even when she appeared unaware. It had been a game Zemma had watched, as Mab had tried to stalk the old queen. It had been the lesson Nor had taught the cub when she stalked him.

Don kicked Jack's chair out from under the girl. She came up like a wildcat, sheer fury in her face. It did her no good to be angry. Don caught her by the throat, lifter her off the ground and looked into her eyes, as she pounded his face with her fists. "At least try," he said pitiably, then he threw her over the counter, and walked out.

Zemma walked around the counter, her plastic tray of grainy eggs still in hand. Jack was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to giggle.

"Did he do this to you, too? Or is this some kind of Furyan mating ritual?"

Zemma was glad to hear Jack's humor wasn't too badly bruised with the rest of her. "I trained with Jaron," Zemma told her simply, not sure what to elaborate on.

"Then what the fuck?"

Zemma sat down next to Jack. "Eggs?"

"Any power bars left?"

"I think you have the last of them stashed someplace," Zemma grinned at the girl. "I know you aren't sleeping in your cabin."

Jack sat up quickly, suspicion on her face. "What do you mean?"

"Don't worry. I don't think the boys have noticed."

"Notice what?" She tried to sound innocent.

Zemma patted Jack's hand. "You take your com chip with you, but I know how to trace the open circuits. Tell my why you do it, and I'll explain what Don's doing."

Jack smiled wryly. "I didn't know you had an evil streak in you," she sounded almost impressed.

"Riddick says I'm more Monger than Furyan," Zemma smiled back, trying to make it sound like a compliment, and not the painful insult she'd taken it as.

"Hypatia used to lock me in. It's just a habit, now, when I have to sleep alone, to sleep someplace secret."

"I thought it might be something like that."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"To see if you'd tell me."

Jack snorted. "Your turn."

"Don's training you in the Now. Has he mentioned that at all?"

"No. He just tells me how slow and stupid I am."

Zemma sighed. This might take awhile. Her conversation about Riddick would have to wait.

Jack caught on to the pseudo-religious warrior's belief very quickly, but seemed to have a thousand questions that Zemma didn't feel adequate to answer. She tried anyway, and only felt less and less Furyan for her efforts. When it had just been she and her father, she thought she knew and understood all that it meant to be Furyan. Faced with more Furyans, those who'd actually lived on Fury, and Jack's constant barrage of questions, Zemma felt her comfortable sense of self shifting sideways. It made her feel edgy.

Riddick was right; she really was more Monger than Furyan.

At least, right now, Monger ideas might help them. She went in search of either Don or Riddick to explain her thoughts. She found Riddick first, almost lost inside a wall of wiring, and cussing up a storm.

"Can't fucking use the secondaries. What the fuck use is having extra engines if you can't fucking use 'em?"

Zemma followed the sound of the voice she'd grown to love into the narrow passage strung with a vast assortment of wiring and conduits.

"Riddi…"

"God-damn it! What the hell do you want?"

Zemma's mouth snapped shut and her mental armor snapped up. She forced her way through the tangle until she nearly bumped into him, her lenses were no help in the dark, she couldn't see through the tightly packed wires. She felt Riddick's hand clamp down on her upper arm.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Thought I'd ask you the same question," she snapped back. "Didn't Don already tell you it was useless to try to make a ship to ship weapon this way?"

"How the hell do you know about that?"

"I think the question is, why did I have to find out instead of hearing it from you?"

They were nearly nose-to-nose, though he towered over her by a head. Their raised voices muted by the web of electrical harnesses packed tightly around them.

"Spying again?" Riddick's sneer struck Zemma painfully with guilt.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just fucking talk to me!"

Not going to apologize, not going to apologize, not going to apologize!

"And tell you what? That there might be something following us, and it might be dangerous, and we might have to fight it after I ripped out all the weapons. How's that going to help?" Zemma could hear frustration in Riddick's voice, along with self-anger.

"If you weren't such an arrogant prick…" Zemma didn't get to finish her sentence. Riddick's hand suddenly cut off her air as he grasped her throat.

"I told you not to call me that anymore," he growled, still almost nose to nose with her. His eyes glinted furiously; Zemma stared into them without blinking.

She brought her hand up, she didn't know if it was to slap him or try to drag his hand off her throat. After his initial grasp, that had startled her to wordlessness, he wasn't holding her painfully tight, but she was angry…and something else… something indescribable.

Riddick caught her hand, pulled it over her head, and tangled it in some wiring there. His other hand left her throat long enough to drag her other wrist up and do the same thing, before returning to her throat in almost a caress.

"You don't understand," he spoke softly to his captive audience. He gritted his teeth, and shook his head as if he didn't understand himself. "I've never been responsible for anyone but myself. I've never had to try to protect anyone…" He shook his head, again, this time looking away from her, perhaps into his past. His hand stroked her throat absently.

Zemma felt that unutterable thrill at his light touch, along with a simple understanding: she knew why Riddick was so edgy. She wasn't the only one whose simple sense of self had taken a sudden turn into uncharted territory. She didn't try to tell him she appreciated his dilemma. She waited for him.

He looked back into her face after just a moment. "I never wanted to be a hero," he sounded a little angry again, and Zemma felt his hand tighten a moment in reaction. She leaned into him a little, feeling that strange sensation, that pleasurable little buzz. She tipped her hips against his.

"Riddick…" she whispered.

"What?" He still seemed irascible, but he was back fully in the Now with her.

She leaned against his hand, and he gave way a little, she tipped her lips towards his ear and whispered, "I know how to make a weapon."

His head snapped away from her cheek so he could look into her eyes, seeking the lie. His hand slid up her neck to her cheek. "What?" He was hopeful, but disbelieving.

Zemma smiled for the first time in what seemed like days. "Don't stop touching me like that, and I'll tell you how you don't have to be the only hero on this ship."

Riddick's hand slid back to its place on her throat, a curious smile on his lips. Zemma sighed and closed her eyes, not understanding why she felt this way but not wanting it to stop. She felt his lips graze her own, trail down to her jaw line, and up to her ear. "Tell me," he whispered.

"Mmm," she hedged, taking a moment to tease him now.

He shook her lightly; his teeth dug into her neck a little. "Tell me," he almost growled, but Zemma could hear the difference in it. He was enjoying the moment too.

Zemma lifted her knee, rubbing up the inside of his leg. "Promise me," she breathed heavily, "that you'll talk to me from now on."

The hand that had been holding her wrists bound above her head let go, but she wasn't released from the tangle. He stroked down the inside of her arm, across her breast, causing her to inhale sharply in reaction. His hand snaked around behind her back, he pulled her sharply against him. He kissed her, thoroughly. "Tell me," he commanded, and this time his voice held promises she couldn't resist.

Riddick kissed her, and Zemma melted into him. The voice in the back of her head tried to remind her she'd been pissed, but she ignored it. She whispered her idea in his ear.

Whatever reaction she expected from him, it wasn't what she got. He pulled her free of the wiring and dragged her out of the wall in search of Don.

"We have three grav-tubes."

Don shook his head. "No. Can't be done. I already looked at those." Don didn't yell, he had too much control for that. "They can't be converted from the secondary engines they're tied to…"

"You're wrong," Zemma insisted. "If we build a regulator…" She tried to be calm, but she knew she wasn't mistaken about this.

"No. Even if your could build a regulator, you cannot put enough power through them to make a dent in another ship."

"Of course, they're lifts, not real gravity guns, that's not the point." Zemma called up the schematic she'd studied the night before. "Look, here…" She pointed to the screen. "If you can move all three of those tubes here, I can route the mains here, with a regulator."

"It wont have enough punch! It won't even cause hull damage to an enemy vessel."

"Then we use it to propel something that will."

Light dawned on him suddenly. He thought for a moment, and then he used a data pad and ran some figures. "We make a anti grav canon, not a real grav-gun." It was part question and part statement.

"No," Zemma smiled. "We make three of them."

"You sure you can make this regulator work?"

Zemma only raised an eyebrow in response; she wouldn't have brought it up if she weren't sure she could do it.

Don turned slowly to Riddick. "Now do we tell Jack?"

"No." Riddick remained stony. "These are just precautions. We may not need a weapon at all. She doesn't need to worry, just focus on her studies."

Zemma frowned at the tension between these two on this subject. She realized it was becoming an old argument. Don was ready to elevate Jack to the status of equal, but Riddick was determined to keep her a child. The men stared at each other a moment longer, and it was Don who finally backed down: perhaps the habit of being second in command.

"I'll get to work. We'll need to do this in shifts. I'll let you know when we can get started." He turned sharply and walked off the bridge deck, leaving Riddick to his watch. Zemma decided it wasn't the time to advocate on Jack's behalf. Later…

She reached out, and he let her melt up against him.

"Go to bed," he said as he kissed the top of her head. "You did good. We'll have a lot to do tomorrow."

"But…" she started.

His hand stroked her throat. "I'll wake you up at the end of my watch."

Zemma sighed.