A Perfect Circle- Part 5
AUTHOR: evilgrrl
Content/Safety Level for children: CAUTION
The survivors of the crash of the Hunter-Gratzner gave their ship one last long look before Shazza pulled away from it in the over-loaded Sand Cat. Fry seemed to be taking it the worst, although Riddick remembered how adamantly she had refused her captaincy. But now her knuckles were white where they gripped the roll bar for balance, and she looked like she actually might cry. You had to feel for her at least a little.
The trip back was much quicker than the trip to the ship had been, and before he knew it, they were back at the settlement. The Sand Cat stopped right beside the skiff, and everyone hopped out and started transferring the load from one to the other. Riddick saw that Johns was letting him bring the power cells into the skiff, but insisted on loading them himself, making sure that Riddick didn't get a chance to be alone on a fully-powered escape vessel.
Riddick, however, had no intention of deserting everyone else in order to make sure they wouldn't blow his cover once they were picked up. Especially that kid, Jack. Riddick got a kick out of him. The main reason, though, was that it would be far too suspicious for Riddick to be rescued in the skiff all by himself. And if he could get the others to vouch for him -- at least when they were first picked up -- it would make his final escape a whole lot easier.
He stopped to rest a minute, and saw Sarah bringing him a tin cup of water, which he took gratefully. "Well?" she asked.
Riddick shrugged.
"You're not going to just leave him here, are you?"
"Why not?" Riddick laughed. "He'd do it to me. And I don't think the both of us are going to get on that ship either. I've got to do him before he does me."
"And after that?"
"After that, I guess I tell the people who rescue us -- assuming somebody does -- I'm somebody else, then get the fuck out of Dodge as soon as we land anywhere. If I'm lucky, I'll have at least a couple of months before anybody comes after me again."
"You know," the girl began hesitantly, "if you really got a new name -- a new ID, I mean -- you might not have anybody on your tail for a lot longer than that."
"You mean one of those counterfeit jobs? They don't last very long."
She shook her head. "No. A real ID, just one that belongs to someone else. Or *did* belong to someone else."
Riddick turned his full concentration on her. "What are you talking about?"
The girl was looking down, intimidated by his gaze. "You just find somebody who doesn't need their ID anymore, because they're dead maybe, and you take it. It's a real ID, and it comes with a real birth certificate, work number and everything. All legit."
A strange feeling was beginning to come over Riddick. He could almost see new doors opening in his future. "And how do I do all this?"
"Well, I have friends that could do it for us."
"Where?"
She seemed a little less embarrassed now. "Lots of places. All over. And if we weren't close to any of them, I can always get in touch. You know, with a drop box or something."
Riddick almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you telling me you set up new papers for people?"
"Not very often," she said quickly. "Most of the work I do is perfectly legal. I'm a communications consultant."
Something changed between them in that moment, although Riddick was not consciously aware of it at the time. Like one of his knives, Sarah was becoming another part of him, an extension of his presence in the world. There was no altruism or sentiment in his thoughts now, just the wheels of his mind spinning pragmatically. Eventually, of course, he might come to love her, and maybe through her, himself. But at this moment, Riddick barely felt his expanding consciousness as he considered all new possibilities that hadn't been there a moment before.
"You really think it could work?"
Sarah heard the small bit of hope in his voice, and it almost broke her heart. "It would probably take at least one more ID switch after that to really make sure the trail was really clear, but that shouldn't be a problem. You'd want to get your eyes fixed, of course; they're too distinctive."
"And they suck in the sunlight too."
She smiled at him. "And you should probably get your right thumbprint altered, the one they usually use for ID."
"Changing fingerprints? That's really delicate work."
"Yes. It is. And it's expensive and painful too. But I know people who can do it." She was perfectly serious as she stared into his eyes. "Now, tell me what you want to do." He heard the hope in her voice, but it didn't register on him except as a reflection of his own newfound hope.
He pulled her close, just a moment, and hugged her to himself fiercely. "I want to get the fuck out of here, get my eyes fixed, and go someplace really far away."
Her voice was muffled against his chest, but he heard her anyway. "Then it's done."
Fry stood on the entrance ramp to the skiff. "Okay, people," she called. "All aboard who's going aboard." But her announcement was perfunctory, and she turned and entered the before seeing anyone follow.
Riddick was beginning to think he'd misjudged Johns. But he couldn't really believe Johns would trust him to behave when so much was at stake. He was just waiting to see how it happened.
Fry and Paris were already aboard the skiff, and all the others were lining up to get in, when Riddick appeared at the top of the ramp and threw down the shackles and the bit that Johns had hidden in his bag aboard the skiff. "Don't need these anymore," Riddick announced. "Dead weight."
Riddick could tell Johns was taken by surprise, as was everyone else. Johns stared down at the metal laying in the dirt and stuttered just a little before he got his excuse out. "Hey, that's my gear. I can take it with me if I want to."
Riddick's smile had no humor in it. "We got weight limits. Can't take 'em."
Understanding of what the two men were really talking about slowly began to dawn on Shazza's face "He's right, Johns. We don't need 'em. You can get new ones later. They're probably insured anyway."
Johns shook his head. "I'm just the type of guy who likes to make his own insurance. Come on, now, boy, get on board." He bent down and picked up the shackles himself.
"Those aren't going aboard with me," Riddick stated flatly, just waiting for Johns to go for his gun.
"What's the hold up?" Fry called out from within the ship. "We're burning fuel here."
Johns didn't even hear her. "Then I guess you're staying here."
Jack was looking in confusion from one man to the other, not understanding the dispute. "Let's just go, can't we?"
Again, it was if the two men heard no one but each other,
"No," Riddick said, contradicting Johns. "The chains are staying here and maybe you want to stay here with them."
"What's the problem, my good man?" Paris asked in that superior, slightly irritated British accent of his as he came up behind Riddick in the doorway. "If I can't take any of *my* cargo, which is surely worth much more than that lot, then why should you take yours?"
"Yeah," Johns said in a sinister way. "Your "cargo" won't keep us from getting our throats slashed in the middle of nowhere. These," he held up the shackles, "just might."
Shazza was incensed. "You made a deal! He behaves and helps us get out of here and you let him go!"
Johns' smile was nasty. "Sure. I just want to wait until we're rescued first. Then I'll let him go."
Fry, looking angry and impatient, appeared behind Riddick. "What's going on out here? Get the hell on board."
Shazza spoke first. "Johns here is goin' back on his word. He wants to lock Riddick up again. Probably planning on takin' him back to jail too!"
"Not necessarily." Johns tried to turn his reasonable lawman look on her. "It's your safety I'm thinking of. It'd be too late to do it after he rapes one of you women and cuts you up. Or one of the boys," he added as an afterthought, glancing in their direction.
"You're dancing on razor blades, Johns," Fry muttered darkly.
That remark finally pushed Johns over the edge. "Look, you may be captain of this ship, but I'm still the law, and this here is my prisoner."
It was only when Johns reached for his gun that Riddick saw the empty holster and Sarah standing behind him, holding something behind her back. She managed to toss away the gun before Johns turned around to see what had happened. Frantically he began to look around for his rifle.
"You looking for this?" Fry was holding it in the doorway of the skiff. "You don't need it. Now everybody stop fucking around and come on in."
Johns lunged for Fry -- and the rifle -- and that's when Riddick went into action, moving between the two and drawing his knife. The two men glared at each other for a moment, then Riddick said, "Let's get it on, white boy," and they began circling.
Riddick had the big hunting knife, and Johns had only the shackles to fight with, but Riddick didn't bother worrying about whether the fight was fair. All Johns had to do, after all, was just put them down and he could go right up on board.
Riddick was the bigger, brawnier man, and Johns the lighter and slimmer, but their looks belied their fighting styles. Johns led with brute force, lashing out with the shackles as hard as he could, while Riddick moved with the grace of a panther, sinuous and swift. He blocked most of John's swings with the chains, or took the blows in exchange for cutting Johns' arms. Riddick had always drawn first blood, and this time was no different.
Riddick changed his tactics after Johns began bleeding freely. Now Riddick ducked the blows, or lunged out of the way, trying to tire his opponent out. He still got in small cuts with the hunting knife when he had the chance, and soon both his clothes and Johns' were splattered with Johns' blood. Riddick's arms and chest burned where the shackles had made contact, but he could tell that Johns was beginning to fade. Riddick danced around him a little while longer before moving in for the kill. Johns was too weak now for a proper fighter's stance, and he had lowered the chains to below his waist. Riddick took his shot, whirling around like a dervish, inflicting a separate killing blow on each turn. Johns fell into a tumble of blood and guts and ragged bits of flesh. He didn't suffer long though; Riddick had slashed his throat.
No one in the circle of survivors moved or spoke. Riddick showed his usual bravado in turning his back on the body and calmly cleaning his knife. It was all bravado, though -- a now-unnecessary show of strength and confidence for the others. No one spoke until Imam quietly suggested they bury the body before they flew out. Fry looked down at the mess Riddick had left and felt her gorge rise. "Forget it," she ordered, and went back aboard ship. Imam compromised by saying a short prayer over the body before he and his charges also boarded.
It had gone better than Riddick had hoped for. Not only were the other passengers sympathetic, but not one of them had objected to the showdown. He would have thought someone would at least have said no, let's settle this peacefully. But no one had. Riddick and Johns were both killers. No one wanted to interfere. Neither of their lives was worth fighting for. Now it was over and they could go back to starring in their own life dramas. He had no reason to believe any of them would cause him any trouble before he could . . . before he and Sarah could get away. The others were almost as complicit in Johns' death as Riddick was. And in a way, it was self-defense, for all of them. No one liked the idea of Johns running the skiff by force and overruling everyone else, including Fry, with his guns. He had made his decision, and he had taken the consequences. It was good riddance as far as Riddick was concerned.
Now Sarah came to him with some water, some whiskey, and a reasonably clean piece of cloth. She urged him to board the skiff, where he sat down and let her tend to his wounds.
No one stared outright, but Riddick could see them stealing curious glances at him and the girl. He supposed he'd just proven himself to be the heartless killer they all thought he was. And they were right -- when your life was at stake, you couldn't let yourself be distracted by personal feelings. You had to bury them down deep enough so that you wouldn't even hear them, except in your dreams. You couldn't show emotion, weakness. No one would respect you if you did.
The other passengers shuffled in their seats, putting on safety harnesses, adjusting their clothing for comfort. He felt their eyes upon him, judging him. He knew he was doing the right thing in being stoic and impassive, in not giving into the turmoil of fatigue and regret and confusion that threatened to overtake him.
Fuck 'em, Riddick thought finally. He pulled Sarah into his lap, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. She put her arms around him, and held him, and comforted him softly.
THE END
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