Consummation

SIX


By the time Riddick landed, he was in real trouble.

The bleeding had stopped, but the antiseptics he’d dosed himself with either hadn’t worked or hadn’t been strong enough. A couple of days after the attack he’d gotten a fever, which kept steadily climbing. His arm hurt more with each passing day, and it hadn’t taken long for it to turn red and nasty, more and more so each time he changed the bandage.

When the port officials asked for his name and intent on Uburi, he replied, “Richard Grey. Here to visit Devin Freed for an undetermined length of time.”

He received docking permission without hassle and picked up the bag he’d packed. It contained nothing but a few changes of clothes, not that he had that many to begin with. Steeling himself against a wave of dizziness, he hailed a cab as soon as he stepped out and into the new atmosphere.

Uburi hadn’t changed all that much since he’d been there last. Still the same hustle and bustle of freemen and slaves alike, still the feeling of business as usual. The slave trade might have been frowned upon in the rest of the universe, but here it was right at home.

The first clue that something had changed was when the cab pulled up to Freed’s small property. It looked unkempt and desolate. The undersized barracks attached behind the main house looked outright deserted. Where were the slaves up for sale kept? What was going on? The door looked grimy and uncared for. Usually Freed had a slave-in-training take care of the general upkeep of the place. Everything gave an air of neglect.

It took a few minutes for the door to open once he’d knocked, but once it did, there was, finally, a familiar sign. One of Freed’s personal slaves stood inside the doorway, looking tired and old. Well, it had been ten years, hadn’t it? Her eyes widened at the sight of him, her mouth forming an ‘O’ of surprise, before her eyes shot to the floor.

Riddick maintained a stony face. “I’m here to see Freed.”

The slave remembered herself and nodded, pushing the door open wider. “You can wait in the living room, sir,” she said softly. “May I get you anything?”

“A beer,” Riddick grunted, sinking into the couch gratefully. The slave nodded and excused herself.

The house felt empty. There were familiar scents, yes, but the only ones that were prevalent were those of the slave he’d just spoken with and Freed himself. Oh, the interior was clean enough, but there was still something not right. There weren’t near enough people. Where were the other three personal slaves? And why did the whole area reek of alcohol?

The first slave returned with his beer, condensation beading on the top and sides. Wordlessly she offered it to Riddick, who accepted it and popped the top. After a first long pull, he asked, “What’s your name?”

She seemed taken aback. “Mary, sir,” the slave replied after a silent moment.

“Well, Mary, where the fuck is everyone else around here?” He started out pleasantly enough, but finished his question with a growl. Riddick leaned forward, knowing he seemed dangerous. Good. His persona was more important then ever now, because with his arm as it was, he was as good as useless for the time being. Another lightheaded moment attested to that well enough.

When Mary didn’t respond right away, but the scent of her fear strengthened considerably, Riddick felt a welcome rush of power. Now for some answers.

Before he could push the issue, however, a familiar voice reached him. “Riddick, as good as it is to see you, I can’t have you threatening my slave like that.”

Riddick chuckled. “Ah, come on. I hadn’t gotten around to threatening her yet.” He rose to his feet and clasped Freed’s hand. “It’s good to see you, too.”

“Sit down, sit down,” Freed responded. “Mary. Beer.”

“Yes, sir,” the slave replied, hurrying off to the kitchen.

“Now, Riddick. What brings you out here after ten years? The news reporters said you were dead, but I always wondered. You’ve got more lives than a cat.” He paused. “You’re not in the market for a slave, are you?”

Instead of the teasing greed that Riddick had expected, Freed sounded apprehensive.

“No, not right now. It’s a long story. But first of all, I need your help.” With that Riddick pulled up his sleeve, showing off his fresh bandage. Thankfully the bleeding had finally stopped the day before. “Got shot a few days back. Need some treatment.”

“Jesus.” Freed stared at Riddick for a moment. “You don’t have mercs on your neck again, do you? I’ve been through too much shit to deal with yours, too. What kind of mess are you bringing with you this time?”

“Like I said, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

“No, I need to know.”

“Devin, don’t fucking push me,” Riddick growled warningly. He needed a place to let down his guard and recoup. There was more wrong with him than a simple gunshot wound. The infection had started to spread, and though he had dosed himself with antibiotics from the ship, his wound seemed only to be getting worse.

Freed seemed to get the message, because he said, “Okay, okay. Relax. Just tell me one thing. Are there mercs coming after you or not?”

Riddick shook his head, losing patience fast. He needed to get fixed up so he could hunt down Jack. Three days without her was too fucking long, even if she wasn’t speaking to him. Even if she was terrified of him.
Was it possible that she was better off without him?

He banished the thought immediately. Whether or not that was the case, she was gone and he wanted her back. Nobody took his Jack. Fucking nobody. He was going to gut those men slowly for what they did. Fuckers.

Mary returned with the beer. “Do you need anything else, sir?”

“Yeah. Bring me the phone.”

It took a moment, but Mary finally brought it to him. It was one of those older models with no vidscreen. Freed had never been rolling in cash, but his business was enough to keep him in high-quality shit. He’d never been much of an antiquities kind of guy. This was getting weirder and weirder by the minute.

Freed dialed. “Bernard. Yeah, I’ve got a situation. Mary got shot.” A pause. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Look, I need you to come over here, okay?” Another pause. “Why don’t I—are you crazy? Ah, hell, Bernard, I don’t want to take her to the fucking hospital. I’ll explain when you get here. Bring whatever you need for—” He leaned toward Riddick. “What kind of bullet?”

“Blaster,” Riddick responded, feeling sweat begin to prickle at his brow. At first he had been puzzled, and Mary had simply looked alarmed at the mention of taking a bullet.

“A blaster.” Another pause. “What do you mean, where did I get a blaster? Don’t ask questions like that over the phone, numbskull. I’ll see you when you get here.” Pause. “I don’t want to wait a fucking hour!” Pause. “Okay, okay. Forty-five minutes. Yeah. Yeah. Bye.”

Riddick looked at his friend with a mixture of confusion and amusement on his face and in his smile. “What the fuck was that all about?”

Freed laughed. “What, did you expect me to take you to a hospital or something?”

Riddick returned, “’Course not. I’d have kicked your ass if you did. But last time I checked, you didn’t need to bust anyone’s balls just to get them to come help you out. What’s going on?”

Freed sat down next to Riddick and gulped the rest of his beer. “Mary. More beer. Want anything, Rick?”

Riddick just raised his beer for a moment. Freed nodded and closed his eyes. “A lot’s changed in the last ten years, believe me.”

“Tell me,” Riddick said, taking another swig of the warming beer.

“You remember Mark?”

Riddick nodded, recalling Mark Bentley and his slave. They were his inspiration for getting Jack in the first place. He reckoned he ought to track them down. Maybe Mark would have some insight on what the fuck was going on between Jack and himself, once he got her back. He didn’t like the thought of those slavers getting their hands on her. Hopefully, she was more scared with them than she was with him. If she were more frightened, that would mean she would want to come back. He didn’t want to have to force her. No, surely that wouldn’t be necessary.

He couldn’t help but remember the look in her eyes, though. That near-broken look of terror.

“Mark took over the whole business on this part of the planet.”

“What? How?”

“I got into gambling. And drinking.” He opened the second beer Mary brought him. “Lost everything, bit by bit. I was never a bigshot, but I had a nice trade going, you know? Buy 'em cheap, train 'em, sell 'em. It worked good." He was silent for a moment. "Don’t know how, but Mark’s business started growing. I think he was cheating me, the son of a bitch.”
Watching the man slurp up the beer like Paris had hoarded the water on T2, Riddick had private doubts about that. “Go on.”

“Ended up losing most of the slaves. Eventually I had to sell the rest to try and win it all back, but that plan backfired, too. Remember those four sweet pussies I had here? Well, I lost them all. All but Mary, here. Lost all the money, too. Didn’t have enough to start the business up again.”

Shit. He’d been through some bad times, for sure. Riddick didn’t say anything in response. Nothing much to say. Freed could have been a great resource. Ten years ago, he had been one of the most prominent traders on the planet.

“So you’re telling me that now Mark’s the most powerful trader around here?” Riddick asked, trying to get it all straightened out in his head.

“Pretty much,” Freed grunted, draining his second beer.

Well, fuck. This was better than he’d hoped. Mark would understand what he was aiming for with Jack. If Riddick needed help, there was only one man he would approach. And considering the fucking mess of things he’d made with Jack, he needed all the help his pride would allow him to get.

Besides, maybe Mark’ll be able to help me track my girl down.

Then it all went black.