43. Spice of Life

Jack woke up in a hospital bed, handcuffed to the rails, and hurting like she'd never been hit with a sonic pulse rifle before. Of course, it wasn't the first time, but it never got easier. Her whole body was one big bruise. She looked around, recognizing the place as a prison hospital by the lack of anything sympathetic or nurturing. Steel gates instead of doors, armed guards instead of nurses, soft whimpering instead of pain medications, were all major clues to her location even before Jack could remember why she might be here.

Don… Riddick… Hypatia…

…her impending birthday, and the doom of the universe. Oh yeah.

She'd killed three men, and all that woman did was hit her with a sound bullet. Jack sighed. Stupid planet had rules after all. You never could tell. It didn't occur to her that a captive work force might be more important than the lives of a few mercenaries. And that Hypatia would make sure that any warden knew Jack was more important, more valuable, than anything. She was about to find that out.

Riddick spent another night searching the dirty streets of another nearby town, his shoulder aching but healing well. By day it was too hot and the residents spent their time fulfilling their quota underground. Few people would talk to him about Jack, if they had seen her at all. It was a planet of close-mouthed and depressed people by the look of it. Underneath, there was something more, Riddick could sense it but not place his finger on it. Made uneasy by the passage of a stranger already, no chances were taken. Children who couldn't yet control themselves were kept away and so Riddick passed by unaware of the secret and not worried too much by the fact. It wasn't his problem. Only Jack was his problem and these people had nothing to say on that subject.

Zemma spent another night on the three metal stairs that linked her to the comforting solidity of the ship. Don watched her struggle surreptitiously, afraid to let her be outside alone while Hypatia's yacht sat a stone's throw away, but unwilling to stand in her way to overcoming her fear. He fingered the pistol grip protruding from his belt. Projectiles and lasers were never safe in space, when sonic and gravity guns would do the trick on a soft human body without accidentally puncturing the hull. He didn't think Hypatia's body was soft enough to be bothered by them, so he'd dug out the ancient weapon he carried with him as a relic and souvenir. It was in perfect working order, and at close range should still knock a fleshy body back a pace, or drill a lovely hole in any skull made of bone and not something stronger. He could only hope Hypatia was more meat than metal.

Hypatia spent her time repairing the damage done by the infamous Richard B. Riddick and contemplating what she knew of his new crewmates. He'd never traveled with anyone before, and she'd never seen anyone with eyes like his. It meant something more than coincidence. She didn't give a thought to the retarded girl. The police report on the last planet had summed that shipmate up, and Hypatia had dismissed her. She might be useful as bait, or if she was valued by the men then perhaps as a hostage. She doubted the girl would be any more fun to torture and kill than a kitten.

A chime sounded, drawing Hypatia from her depressing thoughts of a mild and useless kill; the wardens were responding. There was a chance Jack might try to pass herself off as a young man again, but it was the warden of the women's prison who had the least, and most interesting thing to say.

"I'm insulted by such a meager attempt at bribery."

She didn't say "…attempt at bribery for a prisoner I don't even have."

Hypatia smiled, and any who might have seen it would have shuddered. Jack was as predictable as the stars. Hypatia would never set foot inside a prison: too many variables, too many walls. However, it never really kept Hypatia from her in the long run. Eventually Jack would tire of the monotony that was the real downside to slam, would accept any offer that would free her, and Hypatia would take her back. Predictable.

Even the wardeness' response was expected. They never accepted the first amount. Hypatia was always ready with a more tempting number. Money was no object, ever. You just don't offer too much off the bat or they get suspicious. 100,000 creds was too much for a mere criminal, but about the right amount for a wayward and rebellious daughter of one of the richest men in the universe. She'd played this game more than once with Jack. The delicious part was that it was nearly the truth, and so much more entertaining when word got back to Jack's 'father'.

His call to Hypatia would be banal in its inevitability. She continued to string him along. He would never see Jack, never have use of her, no matter how often Hypatia taunted Jack with the threat of it. She would eventually step foot on his planet, one of them anyway, if she was the carrier, of course. Hypatia didn't care which sister was the bomb, but it would be more fun if Jack weren't it. Either way, there would be hell to pay and death to deal. Governments everywhere would be bending over backwards and offering everything they own to have the antidote. An antidote that might in fact just kill them anyway.

Hypatia hadn't really decided what offers she might accept. There was no plan beyond death and chaos. That was the thrill, the power, of it.

Unpredictability fueled Hypatia. Death thrilled her. Chaos fulfilled her. In the wake of real human emotions, her human brain latched onto those things that had been programmed in their place. Her human architects hadn't realized it would make her impossible to control. The Family learned its lesson well; the scientists who created her were killed and their researched ruined. Any other government that sought creative or monetary aid in similar developments found themselves at the short end of a rather powerful stick wielded by the Family. APs were destroyed free of charge.

Hypatia didn't mind. She liked being unique. It had made her very, very rich and afforded her any amusement she liked.

The kitten-girl flashed into her mind. A kitten covered in blood. Not dead, not even wounded, just surrounded by blood and meat as if it were in fact the most dangerous of predators. Amused, Hypatia giggled, and the sound of it echoed metallically. Perhaps kitten-girl had a use after all.

She took a few days to watch the comings and goings of the little frigate. Usually Riddick left alone at dusk, searching for Jack, no doubt as a means to get back into the Family. Kitten-girl stood on the steps after dark, perhaps pining away for her brutal lover. A brief but detailed fantasy flashed into Hypatia's over active mind regarding the love life of a vicious assassin and his child-like bride. It derailed her for a few minutes. Oh, the terrible things she could teach that man that would make the kitten scream…

A change in the pattern caught her attention. Don, the one who was listed only as a passenger on the manifest but apparently was something a bit more interesting than that, set out a few minutes after Riddick. Hypatia waited to see if the kitten would come out to play. The hunger had begun to plague her soon after her repairs. She was anxious to find a victim, but the trick she could play was more interesting than mere satiation. Chaos was the spice of life.