He Didn't Come

Jack sat near their captive, shiv in hand, staring at him as he subtly struggled against his bonds. She had been lucky. After Herman plotted their course, he tried to push her away and radio for help. She had gone flying and had hit her elbow on the metal floor, really hard. It definitely felt like there was going to be a bruise. Russell had some restraints on his belt, which came in very handy.

Russell was surprisingly helpful in that situation. He roused himself and when he saw Herman rebelling, he hurled himself at the big man and tackled him. Jack knew that the only reason he was able to get the farmer down was because of surprise and momentum. It startled her when Russell pulled the restraints form his belt, though. She didn’t think to question it while he was restraining Herman, but afterward, when he was back to nursing a bottle of booze that never seemed to leave his hand—she wasn’t even sure where he had gotten it—and Herman was resting in the corner, trussed up and completely immobile, she asked him about it.

“So, why did you just happen to have some restraints on you?” she asked him as they sat in the cockpit, looking at the black expanse through the view port.

Russell said, “Just tools of the trade.”

“What trade?” Jack asked, curious. What kind of trade would require professional hand and ankle restraints?

“I’m a merc. You know what mercs are, right, kid?”

Jack masked the shock of surprise and rolled her eyes at the condescension in his voice. “Don’t insult me. Of course I do.” Privately, she worried. Shit, a merc? What if she wasn’t able to get rid of him by the time she was able to go look for Riddick? She couldn’t bring a merc right to him. He’d never forgive her, not to mention that she’d have to go back to New Mecca.

“Why do you ask? You’re not an escaped convict, are you? I don’t have to take you to a slam and collect any bounties on your ass, do I?” Russell laughed loudly at his own joke, and Jack rolled her eyes again. He was an idiot, pure and simple.

Herman spoke up. “Hey, you two… I’m hungry.”

“Shut up,” Russell said in a casual, detached voice, taking another swig of alcohol.

“Where’s the food? I’ll get you something,” Jack said, walking over to him.

Herman answered, “The refridge is over there,” as he gestured with his head awkwardly. Looking around, she saw a small refrigeration unit and walked over to it.

“This is it?” she asked, pointing.

“Yeah. All it has is some sandwiches. Maybe some other stuff, I don’t know. Be careful, because the handle is loose.”

Shrugging, she said, “It’s not like it’s a problem.” She opened the door and scanned the contents. It was a simple set-up with primarily pre-packaged foods suitable for short runs. Nothing dehydrated, thank God. Removing a couple of turkey sandwiches, she turned and set them down outside the pantry door. She then looked for a drink. There was nothing.

“Hey, where can I find something to- ow!”

She tripped on her untied shoelace and went flying. She heard the sound of fabric ripping, and realized that the loose refrige handle had caught on her shirt near the right side of her ribcage. The tearing sound had been the shirt as it ripped straight up, revealing the wrappings around her breasts.

“Oh, no,” she gasped as quietly as she could, holding together the tattered front of her shirt. She looked up fearfully, but Russell hadn’t seen. There was no way she wanted to be at his mercy if he found out that she was a girl and decided to take advantage of that fact.

Herman, however, was looking right at her with widened eyes.

Oh God, what if he says something? In a near panic, she put a finger to her lips, miming ‘shhh.’ Herman did nothing but raise an eyebrow. Jack glanced around wildly, looking for another shirt.

“Hey, kid,” Russell said, approaching from the cockpit, “what’s up with the food situation?” Jack dove into the head and Russell asked, “What the hell’s the matter with him?”

Herman answered, “Not sure. Food’s over there.”

Jack almost sank to the ground in relief. It confused her, though. Why would Herman help her? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she found some way to keep it a secret.

She was screwed. She could always just shed her shirt and wrap up in a towel, but then Russell would wonder why a boy would need to be covered up. Shit. Shit!

She could hear Russell walk back to the cockpit, and she hoped that maybe he would drink himself into an oblivion and give her a chance to save her own ass. Herman asked, “So how am I going to eat?”

Russell grunted from the cockpit, his voice muffled and sleepy. “Let the kid feed you when he gets out.”

Jack waited. Russell snored, but only sometimes. How the hell was she supposed to know if it was safe for her to come out? She slumped on the toilet seat and took off her torn shirt. It really wasn’t all that bad. It was fine from the bottom up to the beginning of the tear. Unfortunately, that tear was right in front of her right breast. If she could just find another shirt, she’d be all right.

Herman’s voice took her by surprise. “Hey, kid. He’s asleep.” Herman was whispering, but unnecessarily. When Russell was out, he wasn’t waking up for a while.

Jack opened the door cautiously, and glanced at the cockpit. Sure enough, Russell was passed out in the pilot’s seat with a bottle in one hand. Where did he keep getting those things?

She looked at Herman, who was smiling. “What are you so happy about?” she snarled.

“No reason,” he said calmly. “There are extra shirts in the back.”

Jack looked around and saw a storage locker she had previously overlooked. Opening it up, she saw several folded tee-shirts and, luckily, some long-sleeved shirts as well. She selected a simple grey long-sleeved shirt and put it on over her own. It was thicker than the one she had been wearing. She would probably get uncomfortably warm eventually, but the ship was fairly cool, so she had a decent enough excuse.

She squatted down next to Herman. “Why did you help me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “You looked like you could use the help.”

Jack was confused. “But I lied to you. We stole your ship. You’re in restraints right now, for God’s sake. Why would you even want to help me?”

Herman chuckled. His nonchalance in the face of his predicament was surprising. She didn’t know if she would have behaved the same way. “I figure that you wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t desperate. Just because I’m a farmer doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. Russell, now, is an idiot. You’re different from him. What’s your name?”

“Jack,” she said, purposely inflecting it to a more masculine pronunciation- as much as a difference there could be, at any rate. It was redundant to the point of stupidity, but she did it anyway… out of habit, more than anything else.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. She was getting a headache. “Look, did Russell feed you?” Herman shook his head, and Jack opened one of the turkey sandwiches that Russell had left on the floor. “I’m going to have to feed you by hand,” she warned.

Herman nodded and said, “I know.”

“Okay. Here.” Jack broke off a piece of the sandwich and held it up to him. For traveling food, it really didn’t smell all that bad, either.

Herman accepted the bite and chewed gratefully. She wondered when he had last eaten. Hell, when was the last time she had eaten? Oh yeah, at the boarding house. That was over a day ago. It was funny how being in a tense situation made her lose her appetite. It sure helped when she was on the run, but it wasn’t healthy. Well, when had she ever cared about whether something was healthy or not?

After Herman was fed, she rummaged in the refridge and got a sandwich for herself. She was right. It didn’t taste that bad at all.

~*~

“Okay, we’re gonna intercept those bastards soon,” Russell said, almost sober for once. “Get that farmer-boy up here, kid.”

“Why do I have to do all the work?” Jack grumbled, rising to obey. It was easier to let him think he was in charge. He wasn’t quite as easily manipulated as she would have hoped, but she supposed that she was expecting too much. She felt much stronger in her male disguise, but how she felt had no bearing on how the rest of the universe saw her. Russell just saw a scrawny kid with a buzz cut. It was good enough camouflage, so it didn’t really matter of he was under her thumb or not.

“Come on. Russell wants to talk to you.” She took Herman by the elbow and helped him up as much as she could. He struggled to his feet, slightly hampered by being unable to use his arms.

“What does he want?”

She shrugged. “Got me. He said something about running into the ship we’re tailing soon. It probably has something to do with that.”

Russell beckoned them forward and said to Herman, “Okay. You need to teach me how to work this airlock.”

With some careful maneuvering, it was possible to sidle up next to another ship, align the airlocks perfectly, and lock them together. It was extremely difficult to do, but all merc ships, much like ‘rat ships, were specially designed to accomplish just that. Jack supposed that it was possible for it to work in reverse.

“Wait,” she asked. “If you’re a merc, why don’t you know how to work it?”

Russell grunted, “Never mind that. Roger never let me near the console during a take.” He grabbed for his beer, but it was empty. “Damn,” he said, and rummaged around near the bottom of the console. Jack couldn’t tell what he was doing until he emerged with a fresh beer.

Seeing her perplexed face, Russell offered, “There’s a liquor cabinet down here.”

Oh. Well, that explained the mystery of the reappearing liquor. Jack wanted to look for herself, but Russell began talking again.

“I can’t wait until I see the looks on their faces. Bastards. Kid, go ahead and let him out of those restraints.”

She stared at him. “Are you crazy? He’s a hostage, you idiot.”

Russell turned and in one smooth motion struck her across the face. Jack gasped, a hand flying up to touch her stinging skin. He hit her. He fucking hit her! “What the hell was that?” she snapped, furious.

“I’m sick of your lip. Shut up and let him go.”

She and Herman exchanged looks. Suddenly she was unsure if she was one of the captors, or a captive along with him. The restraints fell away easily.

“Farmer-boy, you do this. Don’t screw up. I want up there right alongside that hull.”

“I’ve never done this before. My dad explained how it worked, but he never really let me do it,” Herman protested.

Russell sneered, “Well then, I guess you better figure it out.”

Jack glared at him, and he looked at her with disdain. “Don’t look at me like that, boy. Once we get a hold of my ship, I’ll take care of Roger and Curry, and you and me can head out together. You’ve got attitude. You’d make a good merc once you’re older.”

Jack gaped at him. She didn’t realize that he was expecting her to go with him. This wasn’t good. Her plan was to find Riddick.

Wait… now that she thought about it, it really was a stupid plan. How the hell was she supposed to find him? It wasn’t like she had a tracer on him or anything. For the first time, she realized the enormity of the situation she had gotten herself into. She was stuck in free space with a drunk merc—a mean drunk, it was now appearing—and a hostage, and was about to board a ship where there were two other mercs. How the hell was she supposed to get away from them? What would she do, even if she were able to do so?

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. What the hell was she going to do?