Three
for the Money by Jules
PART ONE One Joe Hammond forced his bleary eyes to focus on a reflection in the mirror and decided it was worth turning around for. She prowled across the dance floor, balanced on a pair of gold, four-inch platform boots buttoned clear up to her thighs. Her dress was the same color as the boots, sleeveless and tight, hugging her hips and pressing her breasts into high, rounded mounds over the neckline. She wore a narrow, buckled collar, like a cat's, with a small bell dangling in the hollow of her throat. Her bright red hair was piled loosely, almost haphazardly on top of her head like a tiny bonfire. It didn't look real. He figured he'd find out later. He leaned his elbows against the bar and watched her, slipping between the tables, smacking down a patron's hand as he reached out to grab her. Joe smiled at that. He'd been looking for a feisty girl all night. As she approached, he gave her an openly appraising look and she twirled once before taking a seat next to him at the bar. "Buy me a drink." It wasn't a question. Joe could barely hear her over the music, but he nodded, his smile widening. She was even better close up. Her eyes were lined in black, lids painted gold just like the lips she parted to offer him a sultry smile. He flagged down the bartender. "Blue Moon," he said, not taking his eyes off of her. When she turned he looked down at her legs, watching her cross and uncross them, revealing more of the narrow strip of flesh between the top of her boots and the bottom of her short dress. He didn't hear what she ordered, and quirked an eyebrow in surprise when the bartender set it in front of her. A Nebula. Stiff drink for a woman. "I don't think I've seen you here, before," he shouted. The woman leaned close to reply, her breath hot against his ear. "Haven't been here before," she said. Drawing back, she picked up her drink and sipped at it, eyes fixed on him over the rim of her glass. His attention was drawn briefly to the swirling colors and tiny, sparkling particles suspended in the alcohol, hence the drink's name. He snapped out of it when she set a hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. "Too loud in here," she said, mouthing the words exaggeratedly. He watched her lips, thought of things he'd like to see her lipstick rub off on. "Let's go someplace quiet." She nodded and stood, draining the rest of the drink as he looked on in wonder. "You're something," said Hammond, getting to his feet and dropping three bills on the bar. "So they keep telling me," she replied, slamming the glass down. Hammond started for the door but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "The back," she said, tracing a pattern on his sleeve with one long, golden fingernail. "I want to take a test drive before I sign on for a whole road trip." She wrapped her fingers around the lapel of his coat and pulled him toward the back door. "Hey, baby, watch the silk." He let himself be led down the back hall, past the restrooms, to a door that let out into the alley behind the club. It was early, and he noted with a sense of relief that they seemed to be the first couple to find their way there, tonight. Joe didn't like an audience. "So you're looking for a little preview?" he smirked, reaching for his belt. She smiled and stepped back, beckoning him to follow. "Better not be too little, Sugar." Joe gave a short laugh and made a show of adjusting himself. Do they think about anything else? "I got you covered, sweetheart. Don't you worry. Papa Joe's got plenty to go around." Her mouth tightened suddenly, though the smile remained in her eyes, which began to glisten with hastily forming tears. He scowled and stopped in his tracks, watching her shoulders shake as she tried to suppress... laughter? "Are you fucking laughing at me?" he snapped. It forced its way past her pursed lips and echoed loud in the trash-strewn alley. High-pitched squeals of laughter. She put a hand to her side and made a show of trying and failing to catch her breath. "Papa Joe?" she howled. "What kind of a sick jerk are you, anyway?" "What?!" snarled Hammond. "You fu--" He lunged forward but was jerked back to bounce off of something solid and fall face-first to the floor of the alley. Something crunched in his nose and he held it as he turned to look behind him. Two men stood over him, blocking out the light from the street. When the sparks stopped dancing in front of his eyes, he squinted at them, looking for a familiar face and not finding one. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. One guy was tall and dark-skinned, with a clean-shaven head and a predator's smile. The other wasn't smiling and Joe was certain at that moment that he never had. Both were thickly built, with broad shoulders and fists that looked as big as his head from his vantage point on the ground. He tried to sound indignant, but his broken nose only made him whine. "What the hell is this?" "Where's my dad, Uncle Joe?" The woman's voice. He turned and twisted himself to look up at her and somewhere through the haze forming in his head he felt disappointment at the fact that she'd chosen to put on underwear before leaving the house. It didn't register for a moment what she'd said. "Stop looking up my dress, you pervert!" She kicked him, knocking away the elbow he'd propped himself up with. "What?" She pulled the wig off slowly and blonde hair, curled at the ends, fell to her shoulders. Hammond squinted. "Your dad?" He thought hard, but the gears it his head wouldn't turn. "Who the hell are you?" "Does this mean you guys get to beat it out of him now?" she asked, setting hands on hips. "Absolutely." The voice sent a chill down his spine. He hauled himself onto all fours and tried to crawl away. Hands grabbed him by the scruff and lifted him off the ground, then set him on his feet and gave him a forceful shove that sent him stumbling into the wall. "Wait a minute!" he shouted. "Just tell me what this is about, man, I...I don't know. Look, if this is your girl or something, hey, you should keep better track of her." "Jackie, you drunken asshole," she said. "The kid you used to send to the corner store for beer? Have you seen my dad, the other drunken asshole?" His eyes went wide for a moment, then he smiled broadly and held out his arms. "Little Jackie? Honey, how have you been?" "He doesn't get to call me 'honey'," she snapped. One of the men, he wasn't sure which, hooked a fist hard into his stomach. Joe doubled over, gasping and spitting blood until finally he caught his breath and managed a protest. "What the fuck?" "Look pal," said tall, dark guy. "I'd just as soon not do this, but my pal, here..." He jerked a thumb at the other man, the one that looked like he'd been angry all his life. "The boss promised him he'd get to kick the shit out of somebody tonight, and unless you wanna be the one..." "She's your boss?" he snorted. He saw the fist coming this time, and raised his hands quickly in a warding off gesture. "Hey, hey, hey! Whoa!" Angry Guy lowered his arm to his side and Hammond decided he'd like to keep it there. "Alright, alright. Shit. He's got a place in Tranquility." "See how easy that was?" said Jack. "Now do you want to tell me the name of the sucker he got to pay for it? 'Cause it sure as hell isn't registered under his name." She'd grown up smart. He hated that in a woman. "Marly. Marlene. Marlene Castor," he fumbled. "He moved in with her about six weeks ago." "Wow, that long," she nodded. "Must be a really nice place. What happened to Sonia?" "Ah, they busted up a long time ago." "Figures." Stepping past him, she wheeled and kicked him hard in the crotch, sending him to the ground in a heap. "That's for everything you said about me since I was twelve, you fucking pervert." Her companions followed, wincing in sympathy. Through the roar of blood rushing in his ears he made out their voices as they headed for the street. "Hey, next time, I wanna be the bad guy," said one of the men. "But people expect you to be the bad guy," said the other. "You're a big, bald, scary bastard." "Oh yeah." "This dress keeps riding up." "That's because you're dressed like a hooker, Jack." The sound of her laughter bounced off the alley walls and reverberated in his skull. "Up yours, Riddick." "I've got fifty bucks." "Up yours, too."
Two They spent two nights in Port Safi before they said goodbye to Reggie, boarded the Gloria Dei and saw El Imam through the rest of his journey to New Mecca. Manny joined them. Not as a pilgrim but as a man who dreaded telling his parents he'd lost yet another job. It was to reach that place that Imam had undertaken his journey, and the look of peace and indescribable joy he wore when he came to see them off had moved Jack almost to tears. Manny stayed behind -- New Tangier was, after all, his home world -- and that left just the three of them, which suited Jack just fine. She'd been on the road -- so to speak -- for a couple of years, give or take. It was fun at first, almost unreal; breaking into her dad's safe, slipping out the window in the middle of the night with only a small sack of clothes and a decent wad of cash, living on her own. Then reality and paranoia kicked in and suddenly she realized that she was surrounded by leering, shouting people trying to talk her into doing things she'd never even heard of, and every time she turned a corner she thought someone would be there to drag her kicking and screaming back to her old man. So she cut her hair, traded in her clothes and learned to cuss like a teamster. Walking through the streets as a boy, she'd experienced a new kind of freedom. People treated her differently; they ignored her. She became part of the scenery, easing into life on the street and finally into the corridors of space. Then came the crash and the realization that hustlers, perverts and cops weren't the only things she had to worry about. It wasn't just the wings with teeth, either. Everybody around her had another face lurking behind the one they put forward and she knew now that just because something looked like a goat, smelled like a goat and sounded like a goat -- that didn't mean it was a goat. It wasn't all bad. The fear that she'd never make it on her own had been replaced by the knowledge that she wouldn't have to. Imam had looked after her with a fatherly concern she'd never encountered before; and there was Riddick. Yep, despite a reputation that made grown men wet themselves, Richard Barrymore Riddick had become her personal protector. That was how she figured it, anyway. Guys didn't single-handedly rip the guts out of man-eating monsters for just anybody, after all. He'd explained it to her as the natural urge of an outcast dog to treat as pack mates those who accepted it, and while she understood and cherished the idea of being accepted in return, she held out hope that there was more to it than simple gratitude. Either way, she had him to herself, now. Better, she had him and Mad Marty Bender, too. Marty was the father figure to the unconventional family; a balancing force that worked to temper Jack's youthful exuberance and Riddick's almost overwhelming sense of newfound freedom. He had this sort of "zen" thing going on; an inner calm that somehow coexisted with his understated menace. The two men had known each other long before their meeting on the Death Maiden, and Jack was always struck by the easy comfort they exuded in one another's company. They lived closely, sometimes sharing a single room between the three of them. Jack was always allowed her privacy, though sometimes she regretted the gentlemanly gesture. Her attempts at serious physical contact were avoided so deftly that she wondered whether or not they were actually doing it on purpose. Oh sure, once in awhile they'd wander back from the shower in nothing but a towel, but that was no big deal. Amazing what a girl could get used to. But as they made their way across free space -- forgoing cryo-sleep entirely, partly due to security concerns and partly because Bender had explained in detail exactly what too much time in stasis could do to you -- they often found themselves with nothing to do but talk. So they did. Riddick told Jack about his parents. Mainly that he had no idea who they were. He was found in a dumpster outside a liquor store when he was only a few hours old by the owner, a guy named Richard Yin. The authorities were informed and a female officer, Tracy Ann Riddick, was sent to collect him from the store, which was located on the corner of Sixth and Barrymore streets. When it came time to fill out the paperwork, he was christened Richard Barrymore Riddick by some clever clerk at the Detroit Metropolitan Health Department. His first home was a church-run hospital with a ward for abandoned infants. Attached to it was a school that kept children until they were thirteen. If they weren't taken in before then, they reached what was termed 'premature legal majority' and were turned out to fend for themselves. There was a well-established pecking order among the boys at St. Anthony's and as Riddick grew to understand it, he did all he could to pull himself to the top. It wasn't easy. He was skinny and uncoordinated, but he overcame both with what he liked to refer to as his "Big Clanking Brass Ones". Laughing self-consciously, he admitted to liking school. He read all the time, though not the sort of things his teachers would appreciate. War stories and true crime, mostly. The kind of stuff he had to steal from the drugstore down the street and hide under his mattress. Then the school was closed. Lack of funding, lack of staff, lack of anybody giving a shit. He wasn't sure why and he didn't wait around to find out. When they rounded up the kids to haul them away, Riddick wasn't one of them. When he was twelve he went to the Juv for the first time for stealing a car. Three more months and they would have tried him as an adult, probably would have done some real time. Instead he went to the Bryant Hall Juvenile Holding Facility. The harsh environment was meant to deter its inmates from a life of crime by facing them with the harsh reality of prison and punishment. It had little impact on Riddick, who was still fresh enough on the street to think he was invincible and untamable. Turned out he was sort of right, too. He escaped just after his thirteenth birthday and while he didn't manage to stay out of trouble, he did manage to not get busted. Then he killed a guy named Freddy Liston. Freddy owned Hayes Street Pawn on the east side of Detroit. He was short, fat, balding and a first-rate asshole. He was also a fence, and anything Riddick couldn't dump on the street, Freddy usually took off his hands for about a quarter of what it was worth. He was a cheap bastard and finally just to spite him, Riddick decided to rob the place. Paranoid Freddy lived over the shop and caught him at it, thundering down the stairs brandishing a shotgun and threatening a call to the cops that Riddick knew sure as shit he wouldn't make. In the tussle, the shotgun changed hands and short, fat, balding, first-rate asshole Freddy Liston got himself blown away. Riddick was picked up three days later, ratted out by some half-drunk bastard who'd been sleeping it off on the sidewalk when the shots woke him up. That time, he went to jail for real. He was just shy of seventeen. Riddick described his first time in prison as the feeling that he was a big fish thrown into a small pond only to find out that he wasn't such a goddamn big fish after all. A man gets thrown in the local lockup and tells the other guys he's in for murder -- he gets some respect. The same thing in a maximum security prison? So fucking what. He was locked up with guys who had killed more people than he'd known in his entire life and all the juvie hall dick-waving in the world wasn't going to get him anything but his ass handed to him. So he played it cool. Tried to, anyway. He didn't talk much, not even to his cell mate, because the best way to avoid talking shit was to keep his damn mouth shut. He got the same crap that all the other fish did when they arrived, but he took it like a man and moved on. He spent every free moment in the weight room -- he'd be intimidating enough for people to leave him the hell alone, or at least strong enough to kick the shit out of them if they didn't. For a couple of years, Riddick succeeded in keeping the sound of those Big Clanking Brass Ones from drowning out the voice of reason. But he was young and proud and full of testosterone and eventually his need to be the center of attention outweighed his desire to stay in one piece. He started to get in trouble. Not just you're-gonna-feel-that-in-the-morning trouble, but seventy-two-stitches-busted-ribs-lucky-to-not-be-breathing-out-your-asshole trouble. When Michigan had enough of him, they shipped him to Pueblo Federal, the dumping ground for tough cases from prisons all over the country. But if anything traveled faster than the speed of light it was a reputation in the pen, and guys were practically lined up to take a crack at him. Sometimes he got whipped, but mostly he didn't and he never embarrassed himself. Like two opposed weather fronts, the desperate hope that he'd someday become a part of normal society and the knowledge that he never would clashed in a violent storm. The penal system was no longer about 'rehabilitation' but 'separation', and homicide automatically put your name on a worldwide shit-list. Escape and it went system-wide. After ninety days -- inter-system law enforcement picked it up and you were smeared all over free space. He made the rounds -- Hubble Bay; Taffton; off-planet Ribald S. By the time they shipped him to the Tangiers Penal Colony, he'd escaped twice and killed three of his fellow prisoners. Not the most notorious bastard free space had ever known, but he was on the short end of a long list of guys awaiting execution. No lethal injections or gas like in the old days. Now the most violent bastards in known space went out more like crash-test dummies. Then came the offer he couldn't refuse. M.A.R.I. The Military Advanced Rehabilitation Initiative. They made the rounds of far-flung prison colonies, collecting men they thought they could train. If they were wrong, those men disappeared. If they were right, it was ten missions to freedom. But that wasn't even close to being easy as it sounded. The average life expectancy was six weeks, and that included the training period, a time during which Riddick shed his lone wolf mentality and gained a healthy respect for the Free Space Marine Corps. He earned a place with the Nebulas, a special forces team led by one Captain "Mad" Marty Bender. There was a kind of awe in his voice as he recounted his time with the Nebs, and the first serious regret Jack had ever seen him express when he mentioned his choice to leave them. Watching Bender watch Riddick, Jack got the feeling that there was much more to that story but she didn't ask. She was afraid that if she pressed him for details he wouldn't talk to her anymore, and that would be much worse than not knowing the specifics about what happened between them and some dickheads they X'd out on Kester. No longer within the safe confines of military immunity, Riddick was hauled back to prison within months. He admitted to being sloppy but still he'd wondered if Bender had changed his mind about their friendly parting and had him picked up. That particular part of the story received a 'one-fingered salute' from Marty. Untrained, he'd been hard enough to contain, but after his stint in the marines it was damn near impossible. Returned to Tangiers, he promptly escaped but was picked up in Erfoud by some punk asshole named Johns. Yeah, that one. He caught Riddick with his pants down. Literally. The ensuing scrap was surprisingly short, with Johns, armed to the teeth, taking no chances and coming out on top. He'd washed out of the Nebulas, sure, but he was no slouch. Especially against an unarmed, naked guy, Bender had to add. Riddick, of course, was quick to correct him with what Jack considered an outrageous boast until the next time she saw him in a towel. Tangiers refused to take him back. In fact, the only place that would take him alive and kicking was Ursa Luna. Known less than affectionately as Slam City, Ursa floated just outside the orbit of a dry, uninhabitable planet on the Ressler Corridor. It was the last stop for guys who would have gotten off on the insanity plea if it still existed. Guys who would actually follow through on the 'just as soon kill you as look at you' thing. Riddick wasn't sure what freaked him out more, the idea that the authorities saw him as one of these people or the thought that they might be right. He wasn't keen on going into detail, and Jack didn't push it. He simply made it perfectly clear that he'd rather slam his dick in a sliding glass door than see that place again and left it at that. They stayed up late -- though 'late' was really relative in space -- in one cabin after another, lounging in overstuffed chairs and clearing the booze out of tiny refrigerators. They grew familiar, but not quite comfortable and Jack marveled constantly at her good fortune. She had never been happier than in the company of her newfound family. They didn't tell her not to drink, not to cuss, how to dress, when to go to bed. And they told her things that she liked to imagine, at least, they'd never told anyone else. Bender joked with her that they hung around because they dug rich broads. After giving it a little thought, Jack decided that even if that was the case, she could live with that.
Three Walking ahead of the others, a black canvas bag swinging from one shoulder, Bender looked up at the Earth, brilliant blue in its bed of stars. Terra-Luna was the closest he'd ever been to his mother's home planet and he was struck with a rare sense of awe. The Cradle of Civilization. Every colony, every Roamer, every single person living in free space had their roots on Earth, though most were generations removed and had never laid eyes on it. The place had come to neither the bleak ending nor the utopian existence predicted, but instead remained much the way it always had. No great understanding had changed the face of the planet. No epiphany had led to peace and harmony. The exploration of space hadn't resulted in alien contact, but rather served to confirm that of all the universe, on Earth alone had the proper elements and timing been present to create an intelligent race of beings. That was the objective opinion, of course. After a time even space travel became everyday. People came and went, spreading throughout known space and pressing outward, searching for more. Like mold in a fridge, he mused. The bigger the universe became, the easier it was to become lost in it. Families, people, lost touch. Bender had family on Earth he'd only seen in pictures. Uncles, aunts, cousins. His grandparents were buried up there, in Darwin, Australia. He hadn't even seen his own mother for nine years, the last time aboard the Nightengale at his father's funeral. She wrote him often, though -- letters that he printed out and kept, neatly folded, next to the ones from Reggie. His lip curled upward in a small smile. Maybe he'd retire there. Retire, he thought. To him, "retired" had always been a euphemism for "dead". He turned away and unzipped the bag on his shoulder, withdrawing a small, silver case and flipping it open. Inside a screen glowed blue in the dim light, flashing him a search prompt. "Castor, Marlene," he said. and waited. Riddick stuck out a hand to flag down a passing cab. One of the small, white vehicles zoomed by empty and he cursed under his breath. The men glanced at one another. Bad part of town. The chances of getting a ride were slim to none. "Looks like it's back to the underground," said Riddick. "No way," said Jack, stepping up to the curb. "You're just not doing it right." At the sight of the next cab, she hiked up her skirt and waved. It swung quickly to the side of the road and stopped. The "occupied" light blinked on. "See?" "You're right, Jack," Riddick deadpanned. "I shoulda shown more leg." She poked him hard in the shoulder, grinning broadly. "Smart ass," she said. "Watch it, or I'll give you some of what I gave Uncle Joe." "A cheap feel?" She scowled at him in mock anger and swung a leg at the air. "No, a swift kick in the nougats. I'll bet he's gotta go home and change his shorts." Marty ducked in and slid to the opposite side. Slipping in beside him, Jack flashed him a wicked grin. "Not that you'd know anything about that." "2002 South Sydney," he said to the driver. Riddick pressed into the narrow back seat and pulled the door shut, then looked from one of his companions to the other. "I miss something?" With a shrug, Marty crossed his arms and nudged Jack's knee with his. "She walked in on me while I was changing and is apparently freaked out by the notion of 'going commando'." "A-ha," said Riddick slowly. "It was an accident," Jack protested, fighting a smile. Leaning forward, she reached into the bag between Bender's feet, breasts leaning against his thigh as she pulled out a neatly folded pile of clothing. "Yeah, I'll bet it was," said Riddick as Jack dropped the clothes on his lap. "Who cares, anyway?" She unbuttoned the boots and scooted them down her legs, then pulled them off and tucked them in the bag. "I mean, you guys have seen each other naked lots of times." "Hey, hey now, whoa," they said in unison, shifting toward opposite sides of the cab as Jack burst out laughing. Leaning her elbows on the seat in front of her, she smiled and continued. "It was no big deal. Unzip me." "I certainly don't think you saw enough to determine that, young lady," replied Marty, pointedly not looking as he took hold of the zipper and pulled it down as far as it would go. "Then she's a hell of a good guesser," chuckled Riddick. A loud "Ha!" escaped Jack and tears began to form in the corners of her eyes as she clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to stifle the sounds that wanted to follow. "No peeking," she said, squirming out of the dress. Both men turned to gaze at the passing buildings. "Fuck you, Dickey boy," said Bender. "With what?" "Ask your momma," Marty shot back. "Would if she'd stop laughing long enough." "Were you naked? 'Cause that'll make a person laugh." Grinning, Jack balled up the dress and leaned down again to stuff it in the bag. Then, nude but for a pair of white cotton undies, she sat up and reached for her shirt, on the bottom of the pile in Riddick's lap. "Shit, Marty," he snorted, glancing down. "I could knock you down without even using my hands." Jack's motion drew his attention and he turned, catching a quick glimpse of pale skin before she pulled the shirt over her head and down to cover it. Even then, he didn't look away and as Jack shook out her hair, she raised her eyes and found his. Flushed, she stared at him, blinking, then Bender spoke and they both turned away. "You could park a car in the shadow of my--" "Guys!" Jack shouted, laughing. Smirking, she reached out suddenly in both directions and grabbed each man by the crotch, squeezing briefly and making them jump. "There. We'll say you're even and leave it at that." They stared at her mutely as she wiggled into her pants. "What?" she shrugged. "If you guys are gonna keep talking about your dicks in front of me I might as well get to know them." "Shit," chuckled Riddick. "Looks like it's about time to have that talk about the birds and the bees," said Bender, gazing out the window. "Birds and bees? Shit, you handle it, man, I've been doing it with women." "Not what I heard," Bender smirked. Riddick replied, the corner of his mouth hitching up into a tenuous, lopsided smile. "I was piss drunk and it was your fault." "You did not," said Jack, blinking at him. The two men exchanged a glance, Riddick's cautioning and Bender's mischievous and for a long moment even the air was still, as though afraid to draw their attention. Then the cab came to a halt and the driver turned and held out his hand. "Twenty-five fifty," he said flatly. Riddick opened the door and stepped quickly out onto the sidewalk as Marty pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, peeled off the first three and handed them over. The driver raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the money, then back to Bender. "Helluva tip." "Wait here. We'll be right back. If you're not here..." Marty paused, eyes on the dash. The man turned and saw the object of his attention -- the hack license behind scratched plastic, bolted to the dashboard. Swallowing, he turned back to his passenger, who offered a small, polite smile. "I'll be wanting my money back." "Sure thing, pal." "Oh no you don't," said Jack, scooting after Riddick. "You're not getting off that easy." He walked away from the cab and she hopped after him, pulling on her shoes. When they were out of earshot, he stopped and looked up and down the quiet street. "Since when are you so interested in my sex life?" Stamping her foot to drive it all the way into the shoe, she paused and gave a small "hunh". "Is that a trick question?" she asked. When his expression didn't change, she held up a hand. "Okay, okay," she said, glancing back toward Bender and dropping her voice. "But you at least owe me for the peep show." He looked at her wordlessly for a moment, then cast his eyes over her shoulder at Bender, walking quickly to join them. "Fine," he said. "Shore leave, really drunk, hit on a Stephanie, turned out she was still half Steven. Happy?" Jack stood looking stunned, then suddenly began to laugh, loud and high-pitched. "Holy shit," she cackled. "Did she still have a--?" "Yes she did!" Bender threw in as he stepped up behind her, grinning. "Which goes to show just how snockered the bastard really was." "Eat me." "You wish." "You know," said Jack. "This explains a lot." Riddick shot her a questioning look as Bender stepped past her and headed up the broad sidewalk that led to the front doors of the building. "For instance, why you guys have no problem with the fact that you've showered in the same room but get all weird when I grab your--" "Alright, missy, that's about enough outta you," Bender cut in. Jack grinned, then raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "So how did you know, Marty?" "Know what?" "That she wasn't all she." "'Cause he hit on her first," Riddick said before Marty could answer. "Son of a bitch waited until I was halfway to finding out myself before he warned me off." "That was mean," Jack said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. "I know," Marty nodded with a lopsided grin. He took a deep breath and let it out, straightening his shirt and running a hand through his hair. "Okay guys, let's get into character."
Four The security door wasn't much of a problem. When Jack asked, Riddick looked at her and smirked while Bender quickly bypassed the thing. Seventeen seconds. Having the two of them around was like owning the biggest pair of Swiss Army knives ever. As far as she knew there wasn't anything they couldn't open, lift, fix, break or kill and the fact that they often chose to do those things for her filled her with something she'd been hard-pressed to define. Me, me, me, she laughed to herself. It's all about me. If only they would let me repay them with sexual favors, things would really be fine. A sign in the cavernous lobby directed them to the stairs, which they took two at a time to the fifth and highest floor in the building. The gray stairway door opened into a small alcove beside the elevator, concealed behind a tall, fake tree with dusty silk and plastic leaves. Over the alcove was a sign bearing the symbol for "emergency exit" and judging from the cobwebs in the rounded corners, Jack doubted it had ever been used for even that. The elevator doors covered one end of the hall, and at the other end she a could see doorway with no door that opened up into a room. Between them there were only two doors, one on either side of the hall. Enormous flats that must have cost a fortune. In the lunar colonies, fifth-floor places where hard to come by because the system that kept the atmosphere intact required that all structures be kept under twenty-four meters. Anything taller was against the codes of the Terra-Luna building authority. "Nice place," noted Riddick as they strolled down the hall. "Yeah, swank," Jack shrugged, glancing around with what she hoped came off as casual cool. She didn't look to see if they were buying it. Even though they'd gone over the drill a hundred times on the trip here she was still nervous. She'd envisioned this meeting a million times, picturing everything from a smash and grab to a tearful reunion, unlikely as that seemed. Her speech was practiced, though she knew better than to trust her Dad to be predictable. Bender set a hand on her shoulder, making her jump a little. "He's going to try and take control of the conversation," he said, meeting her eyes. "Don't let him. If you get into trouble, we're here to back you up." Jack glanced from Martin to Riddick, who surprised her with a wink and made her smile. "I can handle it," she said. Resisting the urge to flip the bird at the security camera above the door, Jack poked the doorbell hard with one finger and stood back, arms folded across her chest. Just wait til that sonofabitch... The door swung open to reveal a man Jack almost didn't recognize. His brown hair was short and neatly combed, with just a hint of salt and pepper at the temples. He was tanned, clean-shaven and dressed in a sharp-looking gray suit. His blue eyes sparkled as he smiled broadly. Smiled. At her. Jack could only stare for a moment, brow knitted as she tried to wrap her mind around her father's transformation. "Jackie Girl!" he shouted, throwing his arms wide. As he moved to embrace her, Jack shook her head and stepped back between Riddick and Bender. "I must have the wrong place," she said, finding her voice at last. The surprise vanished, replaced by a smug look Jack had spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting. "I'm looking for your evil twin, Virgil Weller." "Jackie, Sweetheart," he said, uttering a short laugh and letting his arms fall to his sides. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to see you in one piece. After I heard about what happened to the man sent to pick you up I feared the worst." His eyes turned to her companions and he acknowledged each with a nod before returning his attention to Jack. "Are these the gentlemen I have to thank for bringing you home?" "They're with me," Jack said flatly. "They're my security and legal advisors." "Your what?" "They're here to make sure you don't try to screw me over." Straightening, Virgil gave the two men another look. Jack held back a smile as she watched him take them in, imagining their faces -- Riddick's I-could-kill-you-fourteen-ways-before-you-hit-the-floor and Bender's Oh-sure-I'm-polite-now-but-don't-piss-me-off look. Her father seemed to note them with a hint of nervousness that made Jack feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but the creepy smile stayed. It wasn't the oily smile that he used when he asked her to do something she didn't want to, or the one he put on when he introduced a "mom of the month". This was different, almost...sincere? Nah. "Jackie, Sweetheart, I--" "Don't," Jack said quickly. "Don't call me 'sweetheart', don't even think about hugging me, and don't pretend you're happy to see me. Okay, well, maybe you are happy to see me because you figure there's money in it for you, right? Well, forget it. I'm here for my stuff and that's all." The voice didn't even sound like her own. It was, though. She could tell by the way he looked at her like he'd never seen her before. "You've changed quite a bit since you left home." "I learned how to stick up for myself," Jack shot back. She gave herself a swift, mental kick in the ass for getting worked up while her asshole father just stood there looking...pleasant. "Is that why you brought these two big bruisers with you?" "Yeah, well, I also learned that when words fail, violence is the answer." That prompted another look at her boys and Jack noted with pride that her old man's cool faltered. "Everything I kept is in the hall closet," he said, opening the door just wide enough for her to pass. "It's just a couple of boxes but you're welcome to it." Jack paused, but only briefly. She didn't want to let her uncertainty show by turning to the guys for approval. So instead, Jack caught her old man's eyes and held them, forcing her own to remain steady. Her confidence had begun to gain momentum and she let it carry her through the door. "That's mighty big of you, seeing as how it's my stuff and all," she snorted. Virgil started to close the door but instead banged his knee sharply against the corner as Riddick casually shouldered it open to let Marty by. As the door closed behind them, Jack gave a small flip of her wrist in a gesture she hoped looked cool and dismissive. "You boys hang out here," she said. "I'll be right back." "Sure thing, Boss," nodded Riddick, his expression all business. He folded his arms across his chest and stood in the living room, casually threatening. Bender dropped onto the couch and sat, knees apart and fingers knotted behind his head. Following her old man into the hall, Jack allowed herself a smirk. The place wasn't getting any smaller, Jack noted. The hall was wide, with a high, arched ceiling made of clear glass that looked out on the stars. There were doors at either end, and an intersecting hall that opened up into a large room, most of which was beyond Jack's vision as they passed. Round, frosted lights glowed a few feet above their heads, bathing the hall in soft light. Their feet made no sound on the thick, white carpet resulting in an uneasy silence. Jack was just about to open her mouth when her father beat her to it. "So, what have you been up to?" he asked. The question seemed ludicrous when Jack thought about what she'd been through and she almost laughed. "This and that," she replied with a shrug. "Saw interesting places, met interesting people..." "I see that." He stopped in front of a rounded alcove that held a wooden door. All wood was imported on Terra-Luna, and incredibly hard to come by. More evidence that her pop was living in the fashion to which he'd always wanted to become accustomed. "Must've cost an arm and a leg," she said, nodding at the door as he opened it. "How'd you ever get hooked up with a chick classy enough to own a place like this?" He laughed out loud and stepped inside. It was a big walk-in with shelves on two walls and neat rows of labeled plastic containers at the far end. "Cleaned up my act, Honey," he said, stretching for the top shelf. "I quit drinking, went back to school, got a management job with the mining company. A lot's changed since you left." "Maybe you should've gotten rid of me sooner, then," she snorted. "Looks like you did an awful lot without a kid holding you back." "It was never like that, Jackie," he said. "I screwed up and it was my own damn fault. Once I realized that, admitted it..." Shrugging, he made a small gesture at the hall around them. "Things got better." "I'm so happy for you." Pulling down one of the plastic containers, he set it on the floor and reached for another. "Yeah, it shows," he said with a short laugh. "So where'd you find those two, Burly Bastard Warehouse?" "I just picked 'em up, somewhere," Jack replied, leaning against the doorframe and hooking her thumbs in her pockets. "Thought they'd look good on my arms." Virgil responded with a loud burst of laughter. "You did, huh? How are you paying them? They take IOU's?" "Matter of fact, they do," she nodded. "Since when are you so interested in who I hang out with? That part of the brand new you?" "Goddamit, Jackie," he said, dropping a second box on top of the first. "I'm really trying, here, and you're not making it easy." "Easy? I'm supposed to make it frigging easy?" Jack paused, winding up. "Just because you suddenly pretend to give a shit doesn't mean that I should. I know you only fought for custody because you wanted Grandpa's money, and that Mom left because she was tired of you spending all your money on bullshit and coming home so drunk you forgot to drop your girlfriend at home, first. Irreconcilable differences, my ass! You've never done anything that wasn't for your own fucking good, Dad, and it'll take a lot more than a shave and a haircut to make me think it's any different, now!" As Jack bent to pick up the boxes, the light from the hall was blocked by a figure in the doorway. She thought for a moment that one of the guys had heard her raise her voice and came to check on her. Instead she saw a young woman, probably just a few years older than herself with short, red hair and bright blue eyes set into a pale, lightly freckled face. "Virgil, honey..?" Shifting the overflowing grocery bag she held from one hip to the other, she smiled nervously at Jack who, despite herself, smiled back. "Need help with the groceries?" "No, actually," the woman replied, gesturing back down the hall. "One of the, ah, gentlemen in the living room offered to bring them up, thanks." When her dad didn't jump into the expectant pause that followed, Jack bent and lifted the boxes, shifting until she could carry them comfortably. "Hi," she said. "I'm Jackie, the daughter Virge, here probably forgot to tell you he had." "Marlene," the woman responded without missing a beat. Her surprise was clear, but she shook her head as she stepped out of the doorway to let Jack pass. "Your father's told me all about you, there's actually--" She broke off, nodding toward the wall just beyond the closet. A few neat rows of pictures hung there, including one of Jack. Grade school. Missing front tooth. Not her favorite picture. Her blue eyes twinkled in the hall lights as she smiled. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Okay, I wanna wake up, right now... "Uh, likewise," Jack managed. "Lemme just..." She stopped there, heading quickly down the hall with her prize and not stopping until she nearly plowed over Riddick. "Easy, kiddo," he said, lifting the boxes from her arms. "You're doing fine." "I wasn't even prepared for this." "For what?" "They're being nice to me." "Bastards." The front door swung open and Bender entered, a bag in each arm. He shrugged and looked sheepish when Jack glared at him and set the bags on the table near the entrance. "You're a big help," she frowned. "Okay, going now." As if waiting for a cue, Marlene and Virgil emerged from the hallway, no doubt delayed by a quick conference. "Jackie, Sweetheart..." He winced as Jack flashed him a warning glance. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" "I don't think so." "I'd love for you two to get to know each other," he continued, taking the woman's hand and squeezing it. Jack looked as though she'd bitten into something sour. "I'm not ready to be friendly just yet," she said. "C'mon, boys." With that, she crossed to the door, the two men following. It wasn't until they were back out on the sidewalk that Jack relaxed, shaking out her limbs and making a loud, frustrated sound. Bender patted her on the back. "You did good." She nodded. "Ya know, I think maybe I did." "No punches thrown, no furniture broken, nobody called the cops," said Riddick. "Yep. Damn good." "There you go," added Bender. "You know, you guys have seriously got to think about raising your standards."
Five The boys lay flat on the broad ledge of steel that hooded the doorway to the Nightengale's starboard solarium, staring up at the stars. The name was misleading since the light of passing stars was rarely enough to illuminate the room. It didn't matter. Here, with their backs to the cold metal and nothing but windows overhead, it felt like they were floating in space without benefit of the sprawling craft around them. It was also the best place to hide on the whole ship, something Martin Bender and his best friend Curtis Finch discovered as soon as they were big enough to make the climb. "Ever wish you had a clone?" "Hell, yes. Of Angie Karansky." Martin rolled his eyes and elbowed his friend in the arm. "No, numb nuts, of yourself." "Why the hell would I want a clone of myself?" "They shut the air vents to your room, didn't they?" laughed Martin. "Imagine the shit you could cause and still have the perfect alibi. You could send it to class, get it to do your homework..." "I like school.". "Yeah, then why the hell are you hanging around up here?" "History test in Rodekher's, fifth period," Curtis replied. "Thought you were a smart guy." "I'm a science geek, man, I suck at history. I can remember all the dates but not what happened on them. Besides, who really gives a shit when Saberjan was founded? It's not even called that, anymore." "You remembered that." Curtis made a face and kicked him in the foot. "I wish we'd get to the good stuff. Atmospheric generation, interstellar propulsion, artificial intelligence applications--" "They usually save that for college, Poindexter," smirked Martin. "Isn't there a ball around here for you to kick or something?" "Brain." "Jock," Curtis shot back, his straight face cracking into a smile. They fell into a comfortable silence and returned to stargazing. The only sound in the room was the soft whoosh of air as it spilled from the vent and gently rustled the leaves below. Canned air, thought Martin, listening. He'd lived with it his whole life. Filtered, cool and smelling faintly of the disinfectants and anti-allergens it carried, the ship's air was carefully formulated to keep the crew healthy and alert. It served more to remind Martin how artificial and painfully finite his world had always been. The Nightengale was a traveling hospital that moved between wars, natural disasters and epidemics, treating the victims and relocating the homeless. It was just over three kilometers long, crewed by the population of a small town and containing everything they needed to exist independently for years at a time. Martin's parents had met and married here. Simon Bender was a member of the flight crew, piloting the inner/outer atmosphere shuttles that ferried people to and from the ship. His wife Sophie was part of the medical staff and neither showed any interest in retiring soon. So, born and raised within cold metal walls, Martin watched distant planets pass and wondered what life would be like with his feet on the ground. "Gonna kick Sebeastian Wiley's butt after seventh period?" "Can't," he said. "Have an appointment to see Dr. Goldberg with my folks." "Goldberg? Shit," said Curtis. "They peg you for the 'tram incident'?" "Yep," said Martin. "No worries. I told them I acted alone." "I owe you large," Curtis sighed as they exchanged the set of complicated hand gestures they'd shared since primary school "I would've taken my split, though." "I know," replied Martin, mussing his friend's hair. "But there's no reason for both of us to go swirling down the shitter." Curtis whistled. "Goldberg's a hardass, man. You could be in deep shit." "Oh, I am," Martin laughed softly. "The call to my folks involved phrases like 'last straw' and 'drastic measures'. Dad had a big freak, thought he was going to cash in my life insurance." "What about your mom?" "She was upset," he shrugged. "Dad pulled the 'look, now you made your mother cry' thing on me. He knows it makes me feel like an asshole." Curtis's reflection frowned. "What if they kick you off?" "They're not kicking me off," Martin smirked. "If they were I'd be packing my shit up right now." "How do you know?" "I read the call log." "You rat." "In fact," he said. Reaching without looking into the book bag that lay a few feet away he withdrew a rolled up sheet of paper. "I've got a copy of it right here." "Criminal mastermind," Curtis grinned. "Damn straight. Check it, 'Martin's grades and test scores indicate that he is highly intelligent'. Whoo hoo. 'But he lacks direction and respect for authority'," read Martin with a touch of his mother's antipodean accent. "Here you go. 'He's shown considerable ingenuity and initiative, unfortunately both are applied less to his schoolwork than to immature stunts and causing havoc in and out of the classroom'. Hear that, Curt-o? Havoc." "I hear it," he nodded. "And this means they're not booting your ass why?" Martin held up an index finger. "'It is the opinion of Dr. Willard and myself that your son would benefit greatly from a term in the Junior Officer Training Corps.'" Curtis gaped. "What?" "'Pending your permission'", he continued. "'Captain Marks has agreed to waive the standard age requirement of fifteen years or more. We feel that the program will provide Martin with much-needed discipline and direction as well as a more effective outlet for his considerable energy.' They have no fucking idea." "And you're not worried?" frowned Curtis. "No big," Martin shrugged, folding the paper and stuffing it back in the bag. "All I have to do is make it through the standard term before I go to a review and then they'll turn me loose." "How long is that?" "Six months." "I heard it's tough." "Bring it on," said Martin flatly. "Biggest bummer is I have to live in the barracks with the regular military personnel. Other side of the ship. Bed checks, curfews, inspections. Finding time to goof off's gonna be rough." Curtis lay back, fingers laced behind his head. "You're going to try and drag me in, too, aren't you?" "Nope." Curtis elbowed him. "Why the hell not? I thought we were pals!" Martin caught his own reflection in the window and started picking out the stars around the edges, turning himself into a constellation. "Those guys'll snap you like a twig, Curtis," he said, drumming out a tune with his fingers on the metal beside him. "Besides, you've already got it made. You're a frigging genius. You'll end up with the Engineers or Artificial Intelligence or working on top secret stuff that you can't talk about. Just watch, you'll be sitting in a lab on your big old butt--." "Chicks dig geeks," Curtis nodded, grinning broadly. "You'll be too busy holding your test tube," Martin smiled back. He glanced from his own reflection to his friend's. Curtis was a short, skinny kid with wide blue eyes behind thick-framed glasses that he couldn't see two feet in front of him without. When they were younger the boys teased him because he couldn't play sports and the girls used to dare each other to kiss him. In grade four, Shelley Vernon invited him to her birthday party and told him the wrong day on purpose. He hated to admit it even to himself, but the only reason they'd stopped picking on Curtis was because Martin had become both popular and big enough to defend his friend without getting both of their asses kicked. "If anyone fucks with you while I'm not around, Curt-o, you tell me, okay?" Curtis smiled and already Martin felt better about leaving him to fend for himself. "I'll be okay," said Curtis. "They fear you." "They should," Martin laughed. Beneath them, the solarium doors slid open with a soft hiss and light footsteps sounded on the metal deck. Rubber-soled shoes. "My mom," said Martin, though he wasn't sure exactly how he knew. "Martin Ira Bender, I know you're in here," she called. "Two minutes, honey, then we have to go." The boys listened in silence as she left the room. "Your mom's nice," said Curtis. "Dad makes up for it." Martin took a deep breath and let it out in a loud sigh. He shoved his backpack over the ledge and waited until it hit the floor with a heavy thud, then dropped over himself, landing on his feet. "Catch you later, Curt-o. Don't do anything I would do." Curtis leaned around the ledge and waved to him. Walking backward from the room, Martin pushed through the door, waving until his friend was out of sight.
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