He Didn't Come

Emergency skiffs? Jack didn’t know where they were. She looked around in confusion, and finally headed up a flight of stairs. When she emerged on the next level, she tripped and fell on her hands and knees. When she saw what she had landed on, her stomach rebelled, and she threw up.

The body of the crewman who had smuggled her aboard had cushioned her fall. Well, what was left of the crewman. She didn’t know where the other half of him went. Looking around, she realized that the pirates must have set off an explosion of some kind. There were pieces of equipment—and people—littering the corridor. She threw up again, and hauled herself to her feet. Where was the holy man?

“I hate my life. I really, really hate my life,” she moaned when she came to a door with a jammed lock. Turning around, she took a random turn and ended up in the crew’s cryo-bay. There were only three lockers, and all were empty. She knew enough about ships from hearing the talk at the station to know that that meant that the bridge had to be nearby. Maybe those emergency skiffs the weird old guy talked about were close by, as well.

She looked around wildly, fear growing. She could hear someone coming. She was not going to die, damn it! Finally, in desperation, she threw herself into an empty storage locker and shut it behind her. She could barely breathe, but she didn’t see how she could be found. Through the two thin ventilation slits, Jack could see a pair of ‘rats walking by, both armed. Big surprise there.

“I know that kid came up this way,” one said, sounding frustrated.

“I don’t care about the kid. No one will believe him anyway. No, what worries me is that old guy. He looks like somebody important, you know? This crate’s headed to New Mecca. They’re all holy and shit there. He’d have someone on us in no time.”

At least now she knew where they were headed. Of course, she knew it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t make it there alive. She was determined to live through this thing. She’d handled more shit in her life already than most people could even dream of. She wasn’t going to call it quits now.

Oh, great, she thought, when the two pirates sat down directly in front of her locker to share a smoke. The scent of the cheap tobacco tickled her nose and throat, and she resisted the urge to cough. Damn it, bitch, stay quiet, she ordered herself.

She wasn’t sure how long the men sat and bullshitted, but by the time they got up and left, her legs had fallen asleep all the way up to her hips. She knew that if she needed to run, she wouldn’t be able to. She needed to stretch. Jack tried to open the locker door, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again. No luck. It had locked somehow.

“Oh, no,” she gasped, and jiggled the lock fiercely. The door still wouldn’t move. She knew that if, by any chance, the ‘rats left the ship and the strange old man and that knife-wielding weirdo got to a skiff and left, she would starve to death long before the ship got to New Mecca. It wouldn’t matter that the whole crew was dead; docking was automatic, done by computers. The only time the port officials would know that something was wrong was when they realized that no one was coming out of the ship. By then it would be far, far too late.

She banged on the metal door in desperate anger. She lifted her deadened foot and kicked at the door. “I will not die in here!” she yelled at, she thought, nobody.

“If you don’t shut up, you will,” a voice like smooth gravel answered her.

Jack snapped her mouth shut in shock. She knew that silence at that point was useless, but she did her best not to make a single noise. She hoped fruitlessly that maybe whoever it was would go away if she was quiet.

The door swung open and Jack, who had been leaning on it for support, immediately toppled forward and into the muscular stranger’s arms. He sat her on her feet, but she only toppled forward again. Without comment, he swung her easily into his arms and carried her.

“Where are we going?” she asked, fighting panic and looking around wildly.

“Shut up,” he said in a curt voice.

Jack finally got some feeling back in her legs, and despite the painful tingling, she squirmed. “Put me down!”

The man said, a bit of sarcasm evident in his voice, “I thought you didn’t want to die.”

“I don’t,” she answered, as though he were an idiot. Of course she didn’t want to die. What kind of comment was that?

“Then shut up and stop moving around.”

Not seeing much of an option, Jack stopped swearing and accepted the ride. The stranger was exceptionally strong. Though she didn’t weigh much by any standard, he seemed tireless. He made hardly any noise when he moved. Again, Jack was reminded of a man gone feral.

He didn’t set her on her own feet until they were in front of a small door that was clearly labeled Emergency Skiffs. He opened the door and pushed past her. She followed. Who was this guy?

The skiffs were nothing but tiny transport vessels. He pushed her inside one, and she immediately saw the old man, looking intensely worried. He sighed when he saw her, and a look of profound relief slid onto his face. Jack was confused. Why should he care?

“Strap in,” the stranger said in a flat voice, completely deadpan. Jack obeyed, sitting across from the old man, who did likewise.

“What happened?” she asked.

The holy man, whoever he was, said, “I found my way here and could not get the doors open. The pirates must have disabled most of the electronics onboard. This gentleman hacked the unlock code.”

She asked, “How did he know to come after me?”

The old man shrugged. “I do not know. He simply turned around and walked off, and returned with you a few moments later.”

There was no navigation system on board, just a distress beacon. The man—Jack now recognized him as the stranger with the knives—strapped himself into the cockpit like he knew what he was doing. She watched as he punched in a command, and felt a familiar lurch as the raft detached from the airlock and fell away from the hijacked merchant vessel.

Jack asked after a few minutes, “Is it safe to un-strap myself now?”

The old man shrugged, saying, “Ask your rescuer.”

“Rescuer,” the stranger snorted. He said more loudly, speaking to them, “Yeah, go ahead.”

Jack did so and stood cautiously. She had never been in a vessel as small as the skiff. There was barely room for her to walk five paces from the front to the back of the ship. She looked at the holy man, who had stood up and was stretching.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“I am Imam Abu Al-walid,” he said with a smile. “And you are?”

“I’m Jack,” Jack said, pitching her voice lower. It was hard to remember that she was supposed to be a boy. She was lucky that her name could go either way. Jacqueline was pretty easy to shorten. At least she wouldn’t have any problems with forgetting an assumed name when people spoke to her. “So… what’s your deal? Why were you onboard? Why were you going to New Mecca?”

Imam smiled. “I have employment secured, but I also wish to see that holy land. I am blessed to have the opportunity to go there.”

New Mecca was well known for being a center of fervent religious fanatics, but they never did anybody any harm. Jack immediately placed him in the ‘religious maniac’ category, but didn’t dismiss him entirely. He was nice enough… kind, even. She looked towards the stranger. “What’s your name?”

Imam answered for him, sounding surprised, as though she should have recognized him, “This is Richard B. Riddick.”

No way. It couldn't be. "Who?" There was no way she was that lucky.

The stranger said flatly, “Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict, murderer, hit man, fugitive—take your pick.”

He still hadn’t looked at her, which was frustrating. She wanted another look at those goggles, and if she was lucky, the eyes they masked. She had heard that Riddick had shined eyes. She had never seen anyone with a shine-job before, and wanted to examine them.

Jack thought he was joking at first. She looked at Imam, questioning him with the look on her face.

“Yes, child. This man who saved your life is what he says he is,” he answered.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said flatly.

“Why?” Imam asked with a slight smile.

Jack asked, somewhat cynical, “Why would he save me?”

Imam shrugged. “I do not know. Why don’t you ask him?”

Jack shook her head and changed seats, so that she was as far from the two men as she could get. There was enough space for ten people, so there was plenty of room for her to put up her bubble. She'd long idolized Riddick. He was infamous for his prison escapes. He was the kind of person who wouldn't take shit from anybody. If she were more like him, then maybe her life wouldn't have sucked so much. Why would he help her? Help anyone, for that matter? He saved her life three times; once when he killed the ‘rat about to shoot her in her cryo-locker, once when he broke her out of the storage locker and carried her to the skiff, and she was almost positive that when she and Imam were about to be shot together, he had thrown the knife that saved them both.

The old man was another puzzle to her. She didn’t trust Imam, kind as he seemed. She didn’t trust anybody. Things had happened too damn quickly. Jack curled up in her plastic seat and watched them as they spoke in low voices. She couldn’t understand what they were saying. A part of her wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation, but there was a much more insistent part of her that was begging for sleep. She gave in grudgingly, and allowed her eyes to droop closed.