045. A Trick and a Treat

Riddick was angry with himself. Hypatia had disappeared off his radar, with Don in her arms, so completely he had to wonder if she could fly. He'd seen her hit Don with speed that defied imagination… unless you were someone who'd fought the Necromonger Lord Marshal. Hours later he thought he'd caught her trail again, before the vision woman interrupted. He expected to find Hypatia holding Zemma hostage, what he came upon was worse.

Zemma couldn't move, and expected it would be the death of her. She wasn't even sure she could play her part out here, or even take her next full breath.

Hypatia stalked forward stiltedly, long legs taking hopelessly long strides. The skin of her forehead and cheeks glinted coolly in the starlight, creating shadowy pits where her eyes should be. As she got closer she grinned, unnaturally bright teeth clenched into something other than a gracious greeting. It was something feral.

…All the better to eat you with, my dear…

The body she carried was clearly dead, the head hung abnormally from the neck, as if the bones there had not just been broken but… liquefied. Every moment seemed to stutter along as if some invisible strobe light was breaking up the continuity of time for Zemma. Death was stalking straight at her, and it was bringing with it a parting gift of horror.

A new litany flowed through Zemma's mind. Don't be Don. Can't be Riddick. Don't be Don. Can't be Riddick.

"Hey, Kitten!" Hypatia greeted Zemma like an old friend, as if the burden she carried was not the result of a horrendous crime. (How horrendous Zemma was yet to find out.)

"What are you doing out here so late?" Hypatia's voice was light and cordial even as she dumped the body at Zemma's feet. Zemma could only gasp in return.

"Oh, what's the matter, Kitten? That bad old man can't hurt you," Hypatia cooed and kicked the dead stranger at her feet. Zemma felt her stomach flip over slowly. That the man wasn't either of her boys was a relief she couldn't yet indulge in.

In the background, the alarm that had been blaring for several hundred years, by Zemma's perspective, was finally being answered. A human voice called out. Footsteps pounded their direction. Hypatia grinned. Zemma's heart sank at the sight of it.

If Zemma thought there would be more conversation, some explanation, then it was only because she didn't want to see what was going to happen next. She kept hoping Riddick would be along any moment to stop it all. Of course, he isn't really the save the maiden kind, said the one rational voice in the tumult of her mind. She didn't have time to muster a coherent response.

Hypatia glanced over her shoulder at the approaching guard, picked up the dead body, and tore into its throat with her teeth. The grin never left her eyes as she watched Zemma's reaction. For her part, Zemma could not move, could not give Hypatia any reaction at all. It didn't seem to matter. From her bloody mouth Hypatia whispered, "You'll give Jack a message for me, wont you Kitten?"

Zemma suddenly found herself nose to nose with the bloody monster that had raised Jack, the nearly decapitated body between them at their feet.

"Tell her I have the old man."

Zemma could only blink.

Moments later one of the 'Port Guards' showed up to see what fool had crossed the line and set off the perimeter alarm. Hypatia dispatched him with a knife. Still grinning, she caught the second body in her arms. She raised one dead arm, as it still clutched the gun the man had thought would be of some use, and shot Zemma with it. Zemma crumpled under the sonic bullet. Hypatia laid the guard on top of her, put the knife in Zemma's hand, and strode off with her 'dinner'.

The kitten was left surrounded by blood as if she were some deadly predator. Hypatia laughed into what was left of the night.

Zemma was lying on the ground, face first and handcuffed, a dead man lay nearby. Cops, well, mercenary rent-a-cops, swarmed the area, including inside Riddick's ship. Riddick slowed his pace to a natural walk, dropped his lenses and slammed his emotions into neutral. Now was not the time to be angry. He had to find out what was going on before he could control the damage.

Later, he would be very angry.

D.B. Cooper had to be nothing more than curious.

Closer now, Riddick could see Zemma was not conscious, but seemed to be coming around. She was moaning in Furyan, calling for her Ferrin. Riddick was (sort of) glad he had not yet replaced her old man as hero in her subconscious mind. His name was a word he did not want to have to explain.

The tin-badges took him by the arms and started demanding a million justifications for something 'D.B. Cooper' could not possibly explain. While D.B. tried to sound mystified, Riddick heard one man exclaim quietly to another as they stood over Zemma's prone body,

"She sounds like the Squatters. Think she's one of theirs?"

"They usually take care of their own rats. But I guess they might sell a body to the Guilds if they really needed something, and really wanted to be rid of someone."

Meanwhile, D.B. Cooper was finding his voice. No, he didn't know what happened here, he'd been in town looking for someone to spend some time with. No, he didn't have any passengers, but he hadn't bothered to catch up on his manifest, either; everyone had gotten off at the last stop. He hadn't left the planet yet because he was hoping for confirmation on another paying run out-system so he wouldn't have to burn empty for too long, sometimes the mercs from orbital needed… yes, they could search the ship (he knew they already had, anyway)…

Zemma's eyes were starting to flutter open. He hoped she could hear his voice and would catch on fast, or there was about to be a lot more bodies littering the ground. Zemma took in a sharp breath, her eyes pinched closed. She was aware again, but did she understand?

No, he didn't know the woman. No he wasn't trying to smuggle indentureds off planet. No he didn't understand a word she was saying…

Outwardly, D.B. continued his steady stream of answers to the machine gun questioning. Inwardly, Riddick sighed a little in relief. Zemma, eyes still closed against the coming dawn, was quietly spewing every curse Riddick had learned in Furyan, and quite a few he hadn't, about the witch who had done this to her.

A moment later, one Port Guard reported his findings from inside the ship to a superior. No apparent passengers, but a few berths that seemed to have been inhabited at one time. Captain's quarters contained two dresses, hooker costumes, the man guessed. No one questioned the idea. It made Riddick realize how little Zemma had to her name, that the sparse contents of her life could be dismissed as the deviant collection of a lonely space captain. If Zemma heard, she didn't comment, even in Furyan.

Jack, of course, left no residue of her presence. It was a rule of flying under the radar. Don's things, his personal things, must have been well hidden. Those in command of this little cluster fuck seemed satisfied with their assumptions, given little evidence to the contrary:

Zemma was apparently one of the 'Squatters', possibly sold into indenture for crimes against her fellow refugees, and was trying to stow away onboard the unwisely unguarded frigate. D.B. was reprimanded and reminded that human cargo was strictly prohibited off planet. The unfortunate Port Authority Guardsman had been killed trying to stop her, but had gotten off a lucky shot. Case closed.

Zemma was on her way to prison.