He Didn't Come

The port wasn’t that far away. She was able to walk there in about thirty minutes. It was a dirty cesspool of thugs, smugglers, and the occasional group of bewildered travelers who looked like they wished they were back in space. Jack grinned. She felt right at home there. Something puzzled her, though. In a place as prosperous as New Mecca, why wouldn’t the local police keep up the port? Important people came through New Mecca, at least in the first two tiers- diplomats, leaders, rich people… the funny thing was that she didn’t see anybody remotely like that nearby. They were on the second tier. This must have been the port for those closer to the third tier.

The tiers that made up New Mecca separated the city into three levels. The top level was business-related, of course. The second level was the religious level. All religions, it seemed, were represented. It was by far the most peaceful of the three levels, but scum grew even there. That festering spread down to the third tier, which was the ghetto, the bowels of the city.

She needed something to drink. She didn’t have any money, though. Not a problem; while she lived with Jason, she had to steal to get enough to eat. Jason was a hype and OD’d when she was ten. Jack hadn’t been dependant on him, but she wasn’t used to being alone. She hadn't been expecting to be left again. Everyone she came into contact with seemed to ditch her. She didn’t know if there was something seriously wrong with her, or if she just had really bad luck. Ever major influence in her short life had abandoned her at one point or another. She eventually came to the conclusion that she was simply unlovable.

After Jason died, she lived on the streets of New Germany for several months. She quickly mastered the art of picking pockets, and it kept her fed. One day, though, she reached her hand into the pocket of a man who would change her life.

She’d pulled out his wallet and turned to steal quietly away, but was stopped by a massive hand that wrapped itself all the way around her skinny arm. The wallet had been attached to a strong cord that was connected to the inside of his pocket. Though she was sure he hadn’t felt her hand, he definitely felt the cord yank at his jacket.

“Don’t make a scene,” he’d hissed. “Come with me.”

She didn’t have a chance to argue. Never releasing her arm, he dragged her to a car parked near a lonely side street and unceremoniously shoved her in the back seat. She tried to open the door and escape, but the door was rigged with childproof locks.

The strange man slid behind the steering wheel and started up the vehicle.

“Where are we going?” Jack had asked, trying to mask her fear.

“You have a choice,” he said. “I’m taking you to the authorities, or you can work for me.”

Jack frowned. “What kind of work?” she asked, suspicion in her voice.

He said, “That’s not important. Work for me, I’ll feed you, clothe you, take care of you. You’ll even live with some other girls. Or, of course, I can turn your thieving ass in.”

When she was silent, thinking about his offer, he sighed. “You better make up your mind. I’m not a patient man.”

Rather than deal with cops who would just put her back into care, if not juvie, she said somewhat blindly, “I’ll work for you.” She hadn’t had a clue what she was getting herself into.

After furtively snatching a wallet out of a tourist’s ample pocket, Jack sauntered into a bar. The only places she saw were bars, and though she had no intention of getting alcohol, she really did need a drink of water.

The bar was much like any other she’d been in, and she’d been in several in her lifetime. It was dim, smoky, smelling faintly of urine and sweat, and she immediately relaxed in her surroundings. Taking a seat at the water-stained bar, she signaled the bartender. “Could I just get some water?”

The man with the enormous belly stared at her. “How old are you?”

Jack rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter how old I am. I’m not asking for any alcohol, so don’t worry about it.”

The look on his face turned to a definite glare. “Don’t be a smart-ass. Soon as someone wants that seat, you better clear out.”

Jack smirked. “All I need is some water. I wouldn’t stay here if my life depended on it. Come on, I’ll be gone in ten minutes, tops.”

The bartender grunted and turned to fill her glass. When he set it in front of her, she saw that it hadn’t been washed. She sighed and took a sip. The water, at least, was good.

Now that she had a chance to sit and think about what she was doing, she realized that she had no plan at all. Nothing. She needed one, and fast, before Imam found her. She needed to get offworld, but how?

The man sitting down a few stools moved closer to her, disrupting her train of thought. She ignored him and continued drinking her water, but was very aware of his presence. It was impossible not to be—he reeked as though he hadn’t bathed in several days.

He said with an easy, drunken smile, “Don’t worry about Maurice. He’s just an asshole. Ignore him”

Jack didn’t answer, but began drinking the water more quickly. The only problem was that it was actually very cold, and she was temperature-sensitive to food and drinks. She would get a massive brain-freeze if she began to gulp it.

The disheveled man didn’t seem to notice her complete lack of interest. He bantered on about one thing or another. “So then, after a few shots together, Curry and that bastard Roger walked out with this hooker. Then I passed out and woke up right here, at this very spot. Maurice here told me that they paid him 500 creds to do me.”

“Please, shut up,” Jack muttered. Shut up, shut up, shut up! How the hell am I supposed to think if you keep talking?

He was still talking. “So once I get my ship, those two bastards are done for. No one does this to me and gets away with it.”

“Wait, say that again,” she said suddenly, interrupting his somewhat slurred speech.

“What, that I got me a ship?”

“Yeah, yeah. How?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got to track Roger and Curry down somehow, don’t I? Those sons of bitches thought they could get rid of me. Well, no one ditches me and gets away with it.”

Maurice, who had been listening, said, “Russell, shut up. I don’t want word getting back to those two that I let you off.”

Russell shrugged again. “Sure, whatever you say.” Turning again to Jack, he went on, “Anyway, so I got me a ship, but no one to help me pilot it. I ain’t so good at going solo. I get sick sometimes, y’see.”

Yeah, I’ll bet, Jack thought cynically, eyeing the mug of booze in his greasy hand. Out loud she said, “I could help you.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “No problem.” Well, she thought, that was certainly easier than I thought it would be. She had been anticipating having to con her way onboard somehow.

Russell said, “That’s great. Come on.” Without warning he stood up, tossed some folded UD bills on the bar, and said, “Thanks again, Maurice.”

The bartender merely grunted again as he picked up Jack’s cup and Russell’s mug.

Russell had very long legs, and Jack quickly fell behind his giant steps. She hurried to catch up and asked, “Okay, so where’s your ship?”

Russell cleared his throat and looked down at her. “Well, it’s not quite my ship. It’s for sale, see. That way we won’t need to worry about having the right registration. It’s registered as ‘in transit,’” the drunken man said proudly.

Jack gave him some credit, but only grudgingly, as they walked casually in the direction of the ship he had picked out. At least the fool knew a decent ship what he saw one. She wasn’t sure if she would have thought of that kind of a plan, herself. She’d have been far more likely to stow away or bargain her way onboard somewhere.

Russell had a much better plan. With her method, she had no control over her destination. This way, if she got uncomfortable enough (or if Russell could at least chart a course), she could let him drink himself into oblivion and she could take care of things solo.

“Okay, so how do we get rid of the owner?” Russell didn’t answer, and she tapped his arm. “Russell. Focus. How are we gonna get rid of the owner?”

Abruptly he asked, “Can you pilot?”

Jack shook her head. “No. Why, you can pilot, can’t you?”

Russell shook his head, and Jack’s heart sank. This was crazy. She almost made up her mind right then to bail before it was too late, but at that moment Russell clamped an iron grip on her arm.

“Stay with me, kid. We’ll get the owner to pilot for us. Relax.”

She fidgeted nervously as she followed Russell up to the craft. It was small, but looked either fairly unused or very well cared for. It was just a small transport vehicle, but she figured it would serve her purpose well enough.

A tall man opened the loading ramp and walked out to meet them, calloused hand extended. “Hi, there,” he said in a friendly voice, an easy smile playing in his face. “Can I help you?”

Russell, who had been staring off at nothing in a daze, abruptly took the muscular man’s hand.

“Yessir, my boy and I would like to take a look at this ship you’ve got for sale.”

Jack was impressed. The drunk was a good liar.

“It’s not my ship. It belongs to my brother-in-law. Well,” he amended, “it was my father’s gift to him when he and my little sister got married. I’m just handling the business transaction while they’re on their honeymoon. I take it you want to see the interior?”

He spoke with the slightly twanging accent of the agricultural colonies on the outskirts of the third tier, and Jack began to like him. He seemed like a nice guy. She and Russell nodded, and followed him into the ship.

Jack wondered what the hell she was thinking. Maybe she should just call it quits and go back to Imam.

No! If nothing else, she had to prove to Riddick that she was tough. If she had the balls to find him, then perhaps her tenacity would impress him and he would take her with him, wherever it was he was planning to go.

Her comfortable resolve settled itself snugly down on her shoulders. Whatever happened, she swore to herself that she would see this through to the end.

She was yanked abruptly back to reality when Russell grabbed her by the shoulder and squeezed. She resisted the urge to wiggle out of his grip and run like hell. She focused on what he was saying and realized that they were discussing the technicalities of the vessel.

“It’s really just a small transport vehicle with a small head, single bunk, and a minimum-capacity cargo hold,” the man selling the ship explained.

“Hmph,” Russell grunted. Jack began to ask questions, hoping her alcoholic counterpart would catch on.

“How good is the tracking device? What about the navcomm?”

“Why, need to hunt someone down?”

The look that Jack and Russell skewered him with was enough to make the chuckle die in his throat. Suddenly all business, he said, “Look, my dad had everything ripped out and replaced not three weeks ago. I promise, everything is in top condition. He spared no expense for Ana. Too bad her jerk of a husband didn’t recognize the ship for the prize it is. All he wants is the money he can get out of it.” He sighed, presumable at his sister’s taste in men.

Russell finally jumped in with something intelligent to say. “Mind taking us up? Before I make a decision, I’d like to see just how ‘top condition’ this thing’s really in.”

The young man shrugged and nodded. “Sure. Hey, kid, want to sit copilot?”

While the ‘kid’ comment bugged her, she grinned. How cool! The view from the skiff’s view port had been amazing. She wondered if she would be so lucky again.

The salesman contacted the port officials, notified them of their departure, and blasted into the atmosphere. Wow, Jack thought. This tank can really move.

“How about that tracking system?” she asked in a hopeful voice. “Think you could teach me how to use it?”

The man complied. Jack realized she didn’t even know his name, and asked him.

“Herman. I hate it,” he answered briefly, before explaining the tracking system and navcomm to her thoroughly.

Hey, try being a girl named Jack, she thought with an ironic smile.