In Consequence

TWENTY

The ragtag crew of would-be slavers closed in on the target. The captain was surprised that there had been no escape maneuvers. If he was lucky, everyone on his targeted ship was in cryo. It would make this job a whole lot easier.

It would be better all around if they could steal the slave ship. It didn’t look that big, not big enough to hold as many as the captain would have liked, but he’d heard of slavers packing the slaves in really tight. If he was lucky, there would be at least twenty aboard. Even one or two would be enough, though. If it went well, who knew? Maybe he’d make this little career change permanent. The thought still made his stomach turn a bit, but he shoved that feeling down fast.

Captain Rivers called his crew to the mess hall and explained his plan.

~*~

Nobody knew it, but a small wire had fried in the console. The ship’s machinations had registered pursuit, but the alarm had short-circuited. As Captain Rivers and his crew approached, both master and slave slept.

~*~

Riddick’s eyes popped open. In what should have been complete silence were voices. And footsteps.

Fuck.

Were they mercs? He closed his eyes again and put all of his energy toward listening, as hard as he could. Who were these invaders, how many were there, and how could he keep Jack safe while he dealt with them?

That he was concerned with her safety wasn’t even a question. She was his. End of story. He slipped out of bed and silently got dressed, slipping his shivs and goggles into their accustomed places of concealment. “Door lock,” he whispered, passing through it. The electric mechanism obliged with a near-imperceptible click in the occupied darkness.

There sounded like five, maybe eight sets of footsteps. One voice was giving commands. Riddick listened as he kept to the sides of the room, embracing the darkness like a virulent cloak.

“Spread out and look for a cryo-bay. Don’t wake anyone up if you find it.”

“Well, no shit, boss,” a harsh voice drawled.

“Keep your voice down, you idiot!”

“Why? If everyone’s in cryo….”

Why were they looking for a bay? It wasn’t unusual to secure the passengers, but this intruder put a heavy emphasis on the words. Of course, Riddick could have just been hearing things.

“Yeah, but we don’t know if everyone’s in cryo or not. We don’t know how many slaves this guy has. For all we know, there is no cryo-bay and the only ones on board are that big bald guy and the little bitch in the collar. We’re not taking any chances.”

So that’s who they were. Slavers. Riddick drew a shiv with each hand and let the familiar bloodlust well up within him. They wanted his Jack. Fucking bastards. They’d picked the wrong man to fuck with.

Handlights bobbed on the floor, walls, and ceiling ahead of the intruders as they obeyed their leader. Riddick winced and turned his head away as one flashed close to his face. The glare made the shine on his eyes intensify everything to an extremely heightened degree. He allowed the pain to wash over him, inciting his animal to even further peaks of fury.

As one slaver approached him, he grabbed the man’s neck, cutting off any sound and trapping it in his throat. Less than an instant later, that same throat was gushing blood in a silent geyser of fading life. Riddick lowered the body to the floor, making sure the other slavers hadn’t heard a thing.

The dead man’s handlight was quickly snuffed out and set aside. So far he’d been able to avoid getting caught by the beams of light, and began to dance around and in between each man.

They were making their way toward his bedroom, where Jack lay. Fuck that. They would never take her. He would kill them all first.

He rapidly dispatched two more slavers. Which one was their leader? He wanted them all dead, but their leader most of all.

Even as he thought this, the same voice said, “Any luck?”

“No, boss. No cryo-bay. A big storage hold down below, but it doesn’t look like it’s been used in a while.”

“Hm. Maybe she was a pleasure-slave. They bring a lot of money, I hear,” a third voice offered. “’Course, I think we ought to sample the merchandise before we sell it, don’t you, boys?”

Riddick’s hands tightened around his blood-slicked shivs as he approached the crowd of men amid raucous laughter.

“Shut up, Spinelli. If there’s no cryo-bay, then they’re asleep somewhere. Keep your voice down.”

“Too late.” Riddick’s voice was like ice and steel blended together, with a hint of bloodlust warming the edges. He approached the pack of five men with blades flashing and dancing in front of his eyes. His blood thrummed and throbbed with furious elation as his weapons bit soft, yielding flesh. This was what he was made for. This was what he was meant to do. This feeling of power and strength and remote, controlled rage blended inexplicably with a fierce joy as he parted men from their lives… this was his purpose, his birthright. And he relished it.

His targets did not speak. They didn’t have time to. First one, then two were down. He felt something bite his neck, kind of like a mosquito. He didn’t even take the time to slap it away, or wonder what the hell a mosquito was doing in deep space anyhow.

“Lights! Lights! What the fuck is going on, boss?!”

The lights were still programmed for his voice alone. The panic in the men’s voices made him smile a terrible smile.

As he approached a third man, another mosquito bit him. And then another. This time he registered a hollow phht that preceded each bite. The hell?

As Riddick slammed his shiv into the third slaver’s body, he felt a wave of dizziness, and his bloodlust faded. Tranqs. It had to be. He put a hand to his neck to be sure, and felt the telltale feathered darts sticking out of his skin. He ripped them out angrily, ignoring the way they tore at his skin.

He’d been tranqued before in Slam, and it always took at least two darts to get him down. He’d been hit with three. Riddick staggered toward the remaining two slavers, but as he raised his shiv again, he felt something hit him in the back of the head. He fell to his knees.

The world fogged over. Riddick wasn’t out, but he was definitely down. “Fuckers,” he slurred, trying to regain his coordination.

“Come on, Spinelli. That slave bitch has got to be here somewhere. Start looking.”

“What about baldy?” the disembodied voice asked. Riddick felt a booted foot nudge his body.

“We’ll deal with him later. Come on. Oh, shit, here’s a door, but it's fucking locked. Hey, baldy, your hot little slave in here? Door unlock.”

The door, like everything else on his ship, was programmed to respond to Riddick’s voice alone. Growls of frustration emanated from the direction of his door. Jack must have been fucking terrified by now.

Riddick slumped over, trying to force his tangled arms and legs to cooperate. Fuckers were gonna get Jack. No. She was his. They couldn’t touch her. They’d hurt her. No.

The two men started beating on the door. “Piece of shit, open!”

Finally a shot rang out. “Shit, boss, why didn’t you shoot baldy with the blaster instead of the tranq gun?”

“Cuz the tranq gun was already in my hands. Besides, I was thinking we could sell him to a labor camp.”

“You still want to do that?”

“Nah. Too strong. Don’t want to deal with that much trouble.”

Riddick forced himself to his feet. The sound of the tranq gun going off enraged him. They were tranquilizing Jack. Motherfuckers. He took a shaky step toward the two men, and saw the second-in-command carrying Jack’s lifeless form.

“Fuck, she’s a beauty. She’ll bring a fucking awesome price, boss. Can’t wait to try her out.”

Riddick growled, which turned into a roar as he threw himself at the two men as they walked back toward the main cabin. Immediately a familiar pain blossomed in his shoulder. The sound of the blaster was drowned out by his voice as the pain flooded his body. Riddick lay crumpled on the floor. The combination of the three tranquilizer darts, the blow to the back of the head, and the bullet in his shoulder was too much, even for him.

Riddick lay in a pool of his own quickly spreading blood as the two men stepped over him. He groaned, forcing himself to stay conscious. In a last desperate stand, he sliced the Achilles’ tendon of the nearest one, who crashed to the ground with a delicious cry of pain. Unfortunately it wasn’t the one carrying his girl.

In a final act of defiant rage, he snapped the slaver’s neck and lunged for the final man, who was too busy carrying Jack to retaliate in any way other than jump back.

Riddick hauled himself to his feet, but he was too late. The slaver disappeared through the airlock and into his own ship, taking Jack with him.

She was gone. His girl, his Jack, was gone.

No. No way.

Riddick finally fell to the ground, exhausted, pain-wracked, and empty.

She was gone.

~~End of Part Two~~