...And
Back Again by Jules
PART FOUR Sixteen The site still looked the same. Dusty. Beat up. Full of dead things. Whole planet looked that way from what Riddick could tell. They’d passed by the old crash site. Stopped to snap a few pictures, make a few notes. They’d measured the gouge the ship had left in the ground as they flew over it. Jack had counted cryo-lockers. Most were missing, carried off by the Death Maiden to be fixed or sold for scrap. Some had fallen with bodies in them. Live bodies. The ones that didn’t cook probably kicked and screamed the whole way down. Better you than me. Jack could have been one of them. He looked at her. She poked through piles of junk and pulled out drawers, oblivious to his thoughts of her gruesome death. If her locker had taken a header, he would never have known the difference. Things probably would’ve turned out the same. He would have saved his own ass. Run into Bender. Gotten his pardon. After that, there was no telling. He might have beat feet out of familiar space, shaking his ass at all the merc dipshits who couldn’t get a thin fucking dime for it anymore. But there she was. And here he was. Close to the shit but not back in it like everyone else. They didn’t want him around, he knew that much. Maybe they didn’t trust him with a rifle these days. They weren’t soldiers, anymore. There was nobody to court-martial him if he got fed up with Mercer’s bullshit and gave him another hole to shit out of. Or maybe it was just like Marty had told him and he was here because Jack wouldn’t trust a stranger to watch her back. Because they didn’t want to trust anyone else with her, either. He was a bodyguard. That sounded respectable. What you are, Dickey, is that little girl’s bitch. He grumbled briefly at the voice in his head. The one that always said things plain and straight and sounded like Marty Bender back in the days when he’d still bothered to holler at people when they did something stupid. “There’s nothing here,” said Jack. “Even more nothing than there was at the other place.” He grunted in agreement, even if he wasn’t sure it was true. Something had picked at him since they’d set down. Worse, he didn’t know what the hell it was. Making another pass through a place that had almost killed him didn’t help. That which didn’t kill you did not in fact always make you stronger, he’d noted. Sometimes it just waited around until it could bite you in the ass again. That sounded awful deep coming from you, fucknut. “We were here, already,” said Jack. “We didn’t find shit then, either.” “We weren’t looking, then.” She lifted a small, smudge rubber frog and squeezed it. It squeaked loudly. “Think this’ll help?” A soft scrape of metal, somewhere outside. There had been wind, and loose things banging around. He glanced out the window. Not so much now. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Stay put.” “What is it?” Riddick picked up the shotgun from beside the door stepped outside without answering. He could still smell the storm. Not much between it and them, he supposed. It was the scent of something else that made him uneasy. The breeze brought him the acrid stench of alien blood. Rotting meat. New death. He’d overflown the site instead of walking it. Bored. In a hurry. He kicked himself for letting his impatience step on his good sense. A copper-scented rush of wind. He frowned. His feet were quiet on the sandy ground as he moved between buildings. Close to the sides. And cover. He thought about Jack. He’d left her alone. She was better off where she was. The Belle would be a target. So would he, creeping around in broad, glaring daylight. If she didn’t do anything to draw attention to herself, she’d be fine. Not the greatest odds, there. He stopped by a pile of tattered canvas and looked up. Sun flashed on pitted plastic domes. The props beneath them were still. With nothing to do, they must have shut themselves down. One of the domes was broken. Not shattered, just marred by a small, round hole framed by a spiderweb of cracks. Riddick strained to remember if it had been there before and couldn’t. He glanced down. Pock-marks in the siding. Holes, too. He edged around the tarp and saw footprints in the dirt. The ground was hard-packed and they barely showed. Once he spotted one, though, they showed up everywhere. New. Had to be. It had been at least a little muddy here when they were made. The earth here was darker than the rest. He squatted, touched it. He scratched up a chunk of dirt and held it to his nose. Smelled like blood. And then the other smell hit him. Hard. Sickening-sweet odor of decay. Whatever it was couldn’t have been there long. Riddick glanced up at the doors. Johns had blown them open once, he remembered. The jagged gap the slug had left in the metal was still there. Holes had been punched on either side of it and a chain threaded through and secured with a rusted metal pin. Feet stepped heavy somewhere behind him. Quick steps, hard-bottomed boots, jingle of metal charms clipped to a belt loop. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?” he said. Jack snorted and came up to stand beside him. “You should know by now I don’t listen for shit.” She wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?” “I think we should get the hell out of here.” “We just got here.” Riddick stood and gestured at the door. “What’s wrong with this picture?” She looked at it. Her brow creased. “Can we just skip the ‘making Jack feel stupid’ portion of today’s program?” “The door’s locked, Jack.” Jack blinked at him. “We didn’t do that.” He waved a hand at the uneven semi-circle of red on the ground. It looked as though it had seeped under the wall from whatever was on the other side. Riddick suspected he knew what was there. He just didn’t have a damn clue why or what the fuck they were doing here. “I want you to put yourself somewhere that ain’t out in the open,” he said. “What are you going to do?” “Gonna open the damned doors.” “Why do I have to--?” “Forget it,” said Riddick. He handed her the shotgun. “Just don’t stand right in front of the doors.” She stepped off to the side. Still close enough to crane her neck and see inside. She wanted an eyeful, he’d let her have it, then. Riddick twisted and pulled until the metal pin came free. Rust flaked off on his hand and he wiped it on his pants. He glanced at Jack. She held the with the muzzle pointed down and to the side, finger off the trigger but close to it. He thought of taking it from her, decided he’d rather have his hands free. “Don’t shoot unless I tell you to,” he said. “What if you can’t tell me to?” “Just make sure you don’t shoot me, then.” “Oh, ha ha.” He pushed the doors inward and they thumped against something. He pulled instead. The smell hit him like a fist but he didn't flinch. His eyes teared and he blinked to clear them. They were piled just inside. Bodies. Eight, nine, maybe a dozen. A sprawling heap of bloody cloth and gray flesh. Eyes open, most of them. Shriveled and chewed up in the sockets. Tiny, black things buzzed into the air as he moved closer. Wet, hacking coughs erupted outside. Hopefully he wouldn’t need the damned shotgun. The dead were outfitted nearly the same. Matching equipment, but a little personal style to the clothing. All men. And shot, every last one. Not more than a few days ago. Fuck. He pulled them off the pile one at a time and searched them quickly. Torn pockets, open shirts, pale stripe on a finger where a ring used to be. They’d already been picked clean. Riddick glanced around one last time and stepped back out into the sun. Different smell in the mix, now. Jack pulled the bandana off her head and wiped her mouth with it. “Meat not do the same thing for you as bones, Jack?” She leaned against the wall and glared at him, holding the gun by the barrel. He snatched it up, set it against his shoulder and starting walking. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.” “We haven’t--” She was following, and that was all he gave a shit about. Jack could talk all she wanted so long as they got to the ship and got the hell out of here. He paused at the corner of a half-collapsed shack to look the Belle over before he started toward her. Jack sighed and followed. “Why are we leaving?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to.” “But that’s not why we’re leaving.” “Matter that much?” She sighed loudly and jogged to keep up with him. “Why are you walking so fast?” “Because I’m in a hurry.” Something clattered inside the ship. Riddick threw out an arm to stop Jack and pull her behind him. There wasn’t any cover out here except the ship itself. He towed Jack after him and tucked her under the ramp, then started up, leading with the gun. The door between the cargo space and the cockpit was open. Riddick knew sure as shit he hadn’t left it that way. He put his back to the wall and walked slowly forward, eyes fixed on the opening. He paused, listening. Harsh breath, loud gulps, patter of drops on the floor. He kicked the door in and held it with his foot. A plastic bottle dropped and rolled, joined another already on the deck. He had a second to take in wide brown eyes and tattered, bloodstained clothing before the whole mess flew toward him. Riddick’s finger twitched on the trigger, but he turned the gun butt-downward instead and cracked the intruder in the back of the head as he tried to slip past. The guy dropped to the deck face-first. Riddick held the gun in his right hand and shoved him against the bulkhead with his left. “Have a seat, asshole.” Riddick looked him over. He was young, and dressed the same as the less lively group piled in the Coring Room. The front of his shirt was soaked. His bottom lip was split in the center and a thin stream of blood trickled onto his chin. He cowered against the wall and held up his hands with the scuffed and bloody palms outward. Panting, he peered at Riddick through a tangle of dark hair. “Please don’t shoot me.” A company tower after hours; a room full of dead executives and the one he’d left alive, huddled on the floor with a dark stain on his pants because they’d literally scared the piss out of him. The girl who brought the coffee, huddled on a hallway floor. Begging... Riddick fought off a chill and forced the images away. “I’m not going to shoot you.” He glanced at the dirty rag tied around the kid’s arm. There was a dark red spot on it, and a brighter one forming as he watched. “Who are you?” The kid blinked at him, then lowered his eyes to stare at the gun. Riddick sighed. “I’m not--” “Are you with them?” Faint accent. Brit-based maybe. Riddick didn’t waste too much time wondering. Where the hell he’d come from didn’t matter so much as why. “Them, who?” Riddick scowled. He didn’t like the sound of this already. “What the hell are you doing here?” His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out of it. “Look, if you don’t start talking, I am going to shoot you.” “Can I come out, now?” At the sound of Jack’s voice the kid slid himself back along the wall. When he hit the corner and couldn’t go any further, he drew his knees up and hugged them to his chest. “Yeah,” Riddick said flatly. He waited, eyes on the kid as Jack clomped up the ramp. “Who--?” Riddick shot her a look. She stopped talking. He didn’t figure it would last long. Jack kept her distance, walking along the wall on Riddick’s side of the cargo space and coming to stand behind him. The kid looked from Jack to Riddick, back again. He licked his lips and swallowed loudly. “My name is Nathan Fuller,” he said. “I work for Astral Insurance.” Riddick grunted. “Isn’t this a little out of the way for door-to-door sales?” “The c-crash,” he stammered. “We came here to look over the crash.” Things in his head wanted to put themselves together and he couldn’t make them. It was beginning to piss him off. “Little late, aren’t you?” “I didn’t... we...” “It’s okay,” said Jack. “We’re not gonna hurt you.” The kid shifted in his corner. He let go of his legs and stretched them out, but made no move to stand. His eyes were no longer fixed on the gun. He was looking at Jack, now. Riddick’s shoulders tensed and his free hand clenched into a fist. Jack pushed past him into the cabin and came out with another bottle of water. She held it out and the kid took it. “Thank you.” “What happened?” she asked. Riddick wondered if they realized he was still standing there. “Men,” he said. “W-we were on the way to the crash site and we saw this place. So we stopped.” He clutched the bottle to his chest, rubbing at it absently. “They started shooting before we even saw them. Only two of us had guns. They were killed first. Mowed us down and threw us in that place...” “How’d you get out?” “Part of the outside wall was bent up. I crawled through after they were gone.” Jack took the bottle from him and twisted the top off, then handed it back. He flashed her a grateful smile and took a long swig. Fire bloomed beneath Riddick’s ribs. He tightened his grip on the gun. What the fuck was this? “I think they took the girls with them.” “Girls?” asked Riddick. He nodded. “There were two women with us. Investigators. Didn’t shoot them.” “Shit.” “We have to get them,” said Jack. “We aren’t doing a damn thing,” Riddick snapped. He ignored her biting look, focused on the boy instead. Which meant he also had to ignore the urge to twist the kid’s damn head off for the way he was looking at Jack. No time for your bullshit, Buck-o. “We can’t just leave them here.” Riddick punched the button over the door. The ramp started to rise. Jack stood, smiling. “We’re going?” “You’re dropping me off,” said Riddick. “Then you’re taking our friend here upstairs.” “No!” “Don’t argue with me, Jack. Nate, get your ass up and put it in a seat. Both of you, strap in.” The kid nodded and struggled to his feet. He stumbled through the door to the cockpit and dropped into a chair. At least he could follow directions. “You’re not sending me back up!” Riddick took her by the arm and guided her through the door. He nudged her less-than-gently toward a seat. “Riddick!” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you think they took those women to play checkers with, Jack?” She sat. She grabbed the straps and buckled herself in. “How many guys are we talking about?” asked Riddick. He slid into the pilot’s chair and started the pre-flight check. He set the shotgun on the floor at his feet. “I don’t know,” said Nathan. He sniffed loudly, but his voice was steady as he continued. “I saw five. But I there may have been more.” “What kind of weapons?” Stupid question to ask an insurance guy. When Nathan didn’t answer right away, Riddick rephrased. “Did they fire a bunch of shots at once or one at a time?” “A bunch.” Shit. “Anything else you can tell me about them?” Nathan fell quiet again. Riddick glanced over his shoulder. The kid was slumped in the seat with his eyes closed. Before Riddick could say anything his eyes opened and he spoke. “They were rifles. The kind with the big clip that hangs out the bottom. The man who searched me had a pistol with Miroku five six on the handle in red. They talked a lot. Laughed. Used each other’s names. Griff. Benny. Boss. A couple of them were wearing part of a uniform. Dark blue ones, like cops. Or Transit Authority. One had a badge pinned to the strap of his rifle.” Riddick fired up the Belle and tried to ignore the raging case of heebie jeebies rising in his gut. “They say anything about where they came from? Where they were going?” “Niner,” said Nathan. “It didn’t make any sense, but they said--” “Jack.” “Got it.” Quiet rustling as she dug the map out. Riddick turned, saw Nathan watching her. Gave the kid a hard look he didn’t notice. Jack unrolled the plastic sheet and held it up in front of her face. “Shit,” she said. “Oh shit.” He didn’t need to ask. “They’re headed right for it.”
Seventeen “I can’t believe this shit.” Jack sat in the pilot’s seat. It was pointless, since the controls were locked. She could spin the yoke in circles and punch all the buttons, twice. Wouldn’t do a damn thing. The Belle was on auto, blasting out of the blue sky and heading for the black. They’d dropped Riddick off in the middle of nowhere. Then the ramp had raised on its own and the little red light on the yoke had come on and the Belle of the Brawl had lifted off on her own. It was a creepy, helpless feeling, watching the ground fall away. Jack had no idea what to do if the thing flipped out and she’d told him so. It won’t. Very reassuring. And then he’d stuffed her on a ship with a strange man and run off. She glanced back at Nathan. He was stretched out across the right side passenger seats, asleep. Jack had cleaned him up a little. The cuts and scrapes on his hands, and on his back, where the metal wall had left a gash. The wound in his arm had finally stopped bleeding, so she hadn’t messed with it. Just covered it with a new bandage. The rest she left for Reggie. His shirt was a loss, and she gave him a blanket from the box at the rear of the cabin. Then she’d sat down to gaze out the window. Too much time to think. Things were getting weird and out of hand again. Guys with guns they’d considered. But insurance people? She let out a short burst of laughter. Who could ever plan for those, really? The other ship in orbit upstairs had brought them here. Riddick had figured the bodies to be a couple days old at least. Well past the four hour interval between check-ins. No one from the ship had shown up looking for them. If they had come down at all, they would have been led to the men who stripped the bodies of their equipment, which included the emergency beacons. Riddick hadn’t been able to pick up the beacons at all. So they were probably destroyed, turned off, tossed over a cliff or something. Riddick would have to follow whatever trail the guys left behind. She hoped to hell he found them and the whole bunch got to shoot up some bad guys and kick them in the ass and break stuff. Maybe if they got their manly ya-yas out they would quit giving her shit. Riddick had been short with her. Pissy, even. And in a hurry to get rid of her. He was going after the guys to rescue women. Shouldn’t there be a woman there? No, he probably didn’t think so. Marty had as much as told her that girls were a liability. That /she/ was a liability. And Riddick hadn’t really argued. She might not big a Big Famous War Hero, but she could handle herself. At least she hadn’t gotten the crap kicked out of her lately, to her recollection. Asshole. They left perpetual day for perpetual night. To her it felt like being dropped suddenly and then caught just as quickly. The Belle’s gravity only missed a beat before it kicked in. The jog hadn’t even been enough to wake Nathan. She ought to, though. He was flighty enough without being surprised by a crowd of new people. Jack unbuckled the straps and leaned back to pat him on the hand. “Nathan.” He jerked a little and opened his eyes. “We’re almost there.” The radio sputtered and squealed. Jack pushed the button and opened her mouth to speak. Loud static filled the cabin. She turned it off and frowned at it. “Weird.” Nathan held the blanket around him and eased into the co-pilot’s chair. His eyes were heavy-lidded and foggy and he rubbed at them with the knuckles of both hands. Jack realized she was staring about a split second before he did, too. He smiled at her. A small one, ragged and tired. She smiled back and wondered why it made her feel guilty. She turned back to the windshield and sighed her relief as the Vagabond Queen came into view. The problem was, they weren’t chasing her. The Belle should have been moving in to catch her on the fly. Instead, they were drifting slowly toward the other ship as it hung between them and the distant rock field. “They’re supposed to be orbiting,” she said. “What the hell?” Nathan shifted in his seat and his tongue darted over his lips. He leaned forward and the two of them watched the Queen grow larger until it blocked out the stars. The Belle turned around and slipped rear-first into the outer lock and the doors slid closed. “I don’t--” Jack jumped up and went to the back of the ship. She waited beside the ramp until the light above the inner door went from red to green. “Punch that button over the door, would you?” He stepped out of the cockpit and did as she’d asked. The ramp pulled open and started down. Nathan stayed at the back, eyeing the opening. “It’s okay,” said Jack. He started forward as the inner doors opened. Two men stood just inside. Men who in no way resembled the ones who were supposed to be here. One was a pasty faced redhead with freckles and pale eyes. He was huge. The other man was smaller, darker, uglier. Each was armed, their weapons drawn and pointed at her. She twitched, considering bolting back in and raising the ramp. “Don’t move, ma’am,” said Big Red. Jack’s face reddened. She chewed on her lip and clenched her fists and wish to hell she had something to throw at them. Like a shitload of bullets. “Ma’am? You board my ship and you point guns at me and you’re calling me ma’am?” “Alright, bitch. Put your hands on your head and come down the ramp, slowly.” The dark man motioned with his gun. “You, too, Slim.” Nathan looked at her, didn’t move. He was waiting for her. Jack swallowed loudly. Served her right for wanting to be the boss. Fuck, but she didn’t want this kind of responsibility right now. She laced her fingers on top of her head. Nathan moved to do the same and made a small, pained sound as he raised his left arm. They shuffled slowly down the ramp one at a time. The redhead pulled her away from the ship and patted her down while the other man stood back, his gun on Nathan but his eyes on her. “Getting a good look, asshole?” she asked. “Open your mouth one more time.” Short, Dark and Ugly lowered the gun a little. “One more time, and I shoot him in the gut. Understand?” Jack nodded mutely. Big Red finished frisking her and moved on to Nathan. Jack kept her eyes on the other man. He blew her a kiss. They were herded across the main bay to one of the refrigerated rooms. Her heart was pounding hard enough she expected to hear the sound echo in the room. She stopped a few meters short of the door and they pushed her ahead. “Go.” She opened her mouth to protest and stopped herself. Her eyes flicked to Nathan. They’d taken the blanket, but that wasn’t the only reason he was shaking. His eyes had lost the sleepy fog. Now they were wide, and fixed on her. Big Red peered through the small, round window and pounded on the door. “Back the fuck up!” He opened the door and held it. He smirked and gestured into the room. “Your suite, Princess.” At least Jack didn’t have to get Nathan shot to ask where everyone was. She stepped inside and Nathan stumbled in after her. He bumped into her back and mumbled a hasty apology. He stayed behind her as they slammed the door shut and she heard the lock slide home. Reggie stayed with her back to the wall until the door was closed, then she pushed away from it and went to Jack. “Are you okay?” she asked. Jack tolerated a quick once-over and nodded. “What the hell happened up here?” “We were boarded,” said Reggie. Jack glanced around the small space. Ty sat against one wall, holding a wadded up cloth to the side of his head. Herry sat in the corner beside four blue crates, gnawing on an apple. There was a splotch of red on the left side of his face and he winced as he took a bite. It was cold. Not uncomfortable yet but from the look of the others it would get there sooner or later. “Where’s the other ship?” Reggie blinked at her. “It’s not out there?” One hand flew to her mouth and she started chewing at her nails. “The Death Maiden, Jack. Cappy’s the one that reeled us in.” Jack’s turn to be shocked. Her heart skipped and clenched and felt like the cold air of the room had seeped into it. “Well what the hell for?” “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “They didn’t stop to explain before they beat up the guys and threw us in here. We--” Reggie stopped suddenly. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Where’s Riddick?” Holy shit, she’d almost forgotten. “He’s still down there.” Reggie put a finger to her lips. Jack lowered her voice as she went on. “We found bodies. Fresh. He said they were just a couple days old.” “Days,” muttered Nathan. “God.” “Who the hell is this guy?” Herry asked suddenly. They all turned to stare at him and he shrugged. “What? He’s on my boat, just like the rest of these unwelcome sons of bitches, and I want to know who the fuck he is.” “He works for an insurance company,” said Jack. Herry let out a loud burst of laughter. “Oh that’s just fucking rich. You here to file my claim for whatever these assholes are going to do to my ship?” “I--” “Stow it, Herry.” Ty pulled the rag away from his head and dropped it on the deck. There was a bright red splotch on it. Jack couldn’t see the wound it had come from. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. He spoke softly. “Why didn’t he come back with you?” “Why are we whispering?” asked Jack. Reggie pointed upward, to a vent near the ceiling. “We can hear them, sometimes,” she said. “I think they can hear us, too, if we talk too loud. We don’t want to give them any more information than we have to.” “Why didn’t he come back with you?” Ty repeated slowly. Jack nodded at Nathan. “The people he was with were killed. Some of them were taken. The women.” “By who?” Reggie asked. She crossed her arms and rubbed and her shoulders through her shirt. “A bunch of guys with guns. Miners. Mercs, maybe. We didn’t see them, just what they did. Nathan, here saw them, though.” “Did you recognize any of them here on the ship, Nathan?” Ty asked. His voice was calm and even, full of more ice than the temperature in the room could account for. “No, sir.” Jack saw the question in Reggie’s eyes about a second before Ty asked it. “Do Martin and the others know about this?” She shook her head. “Riddick went after them to warn them. We tried the radio. Figured dead people and armed guys rated as important enough to break silence. They--” She stopped, tried to think of a way to turn around midsentence when she realized how horrible it was going to sound when she said, “--didn’t answer.” Reggie swallowed loud enough for Jack to hear. “Didn’t answer?” Jack groaned inwardly. Pure genius, blurting that out first. That way Reggie would already be prepared for the notion that her husband had been killed in the firefight he’d probably walked into. Pounding on the door. They all looked. Big Red’s face was framed in the window, glaring. His muted voice came through. “Against the wall!” Reggie put her back to the wall. The bolt ground and clunked and the door swung outward. Jack followed suit and kept still. Cappy leaned in the doorway. He ran his eyes over each of them, then settled on Jack. “Did you forget something?” he asked. “Your favorite pair of earrings, maybe?” Jack opened her mouth to respond, thought of the warning she’d received and closed it again. “I hadn’t realized this place was such a bloody goddamned picnic spot.” Cappy took a few steps into the room. Big Red replaced him at the door and fixed his eyes on Ty. No one else seemed to worry him. “Where are the rest?” asked Cappy. The man who had threatened to shoot if she talked was nowhere to be seen, but she still was still afraid to say anything. What if she opened her big mouth and got somebody killed? “Wats,” Cappy said flatly. Big Red leveled his sidearm at Ty. “One more time.” Or she could not open her big mouth and get somebody killed. “I don’t know,” Jack said quickly. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It would do for a minute, maybe, until she thought of something better. He walked up to Jack, towered over her. She had nowhere to go. She pressed herself back against the wall and the cold bit into her bare shoulders. Reggie started to move toward them and Big Red pointed the gun at her, shook his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.” Cappy scooped the pendant off of Jack’s chest and held it in his hand. “Saint Martin watching over you these days, little girl?” She kept her eyes away from Reggie, looked straight at Cappy, instead. “I’ve seen the cases the things you brought along came in. Very serious stuff.” He turned to Reggie and snagged her left hand. She gasped but didn’t try to pull away. He held the hand up to his face. Jack looked at it, too. Watched Cappy rub the plain gold band on her finger. “I’ve also seen some of Martin’s things in your cabin, Regina. Congratulations. Think if you scream loud enough, he’ll hear you all the way down there?” He let Reggie go and she slid away along the wall. She came to a stop next to Ty, who put a hand up and pulled her down beside him. “Leave her alone,” said Jack. She hoped her voice sounded as steady as she was trying to make it. It was hard to hear over the pounding in her ears. “Any of you people going to say a word?” Silence. For an instant Jack considered lying. She could misdirect them. Send them to the wrong place. But what if she got caught? She let her face go carefully blank and stared back at Cappy along with the others. “They can’t leave here without coming back here, first,” he said. He turned and walked out and the door slammed shut after him. “What does that mean?” asked Jack. Herry shrugged. Nathan slid down the wall and landed hard on his ass. He pulled his knees up to his chest and folded his arms on top of them. Ty shook his head. “I don’t know.” They were quiet for several minutes. Voices drifted in from outside but Jack couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then the floor hummed beneath her feet and there was a muffled, metallic thud from out in the bay. “What was that?” she asked. “Outer doors,” said Herry. “They’re taking the Belle back down.”
Eighteen “Two minutes I’ve been staring at these fuckers, Snow,” said Marty. “And I can already tell I don’t like them.” He scowled into the binoculars. The four of them were flat on their bellies under the wheeled front of a half-track mine cart. He’d counted three men down in the camp so far. Each of them walking around armed. He studied the rifles. Older stuff. Not top of the line. Not in the best shape, either. They’ll still put a goddamn hole in you, won’t they? Twinge of pain in his stomach. He ignored it and it went away. The tunnel had let out between two other mine shafts. All of them were full of equipment and signs of recent activity, but no men. Nobody was working. Maybe it was fucking Sunday. Marty snorted and muttered, “Why the hell not, right?” The camp was made up of two long, rectangular structures and six small, domed ones. One of the rounded buildings seemed to be a focus of attention. Men leaned against it, looking through the half-open shutters. One clapped and hooted. Marty scowled some more. “The round ones look like housing,” said Kelly. “That’s not so bad. How many guys can they fit in there, right?” “Very professional assessment,” Marty chuckled. “What I would like to know is why these assholes are standing around with guns in the middle of bugger all nothing.” Wilkins nudged him. “We still going to have a look around?” He didn’t answer right away. He could feel them staring at him, waiting. He didn’t like this. In fact he’d go so far as to say it blew goats. The indication was that there were several more people stationed here than they’d seen. And the ones they had seen were armed to the teeth. He watched them mill around the shack, backs to the outside. Armed, maybe, but not real bright. The radio squealed in his ear before he could give them an answer. “Son of a bitch!” he hissed. “...hear me?” Riddick’s voice. Kelly pulled the earpiece off and stared at it. “The fuck?” “This better be good,” said Marty. “We got a problem,” he said. Marty sighed. “Fuck me.” “Only if you buy me flowers first,” said Riddick. “Men, armed. Killed a bunch of folks at Site B.” Another pain, more fierce than the last. Sharp and insistent, it made him glad he was already flat on the ground. “What folks?” asked Snow. Marty blinked, kept watching the men in the camp and pretending he didn’t feel Snow’s eyes on him. The pain faded. He realized he was bracing for the next one and kicked himself inwardly. Fuck. You. “The other ship upstairs,” said Riddick. “It’s an insurance boat. Fourteen people came down about three days ago. Armed men took two women, killed all but one of the rest. Then they headed where you’re headed.” “Where we’re at,” said Marty. He contemplated cursing and breaking stuff, decided it would wait for later. Instead he said, calmly, “And where the hell are you?” “Driving toward your location.” Marty thought about it for a long moment. Too long for his liking, but then this was a real bitch to untangle. “Get as close as you can,” he said. “Be ready to come blazing in here and pick us up.” “Yessir, Cap.” The radio crackled again and Riddick went quiet. Marty turned to the others. “Yes, we’ll be looking around,” he said. “We’ll also be sneaking about and possibly killing people.” Kelly waved his hands and opened his mouth in a silent cheer. “You’re sick, you know that?” asked Wilkins. Kelly shrugged. “Hate to get all dressed up for nothing.” Wilkins rolled his eyes. “Plan?” “I can take all three of them, Cap.” Mercy’s disembodied voice whispered in his ear. “Glad you could make it.” “Sitting around waiting for you guys.” “You eager to shoot people, too?” Marty asked. “Yes I am,” said Mercy. “Bloodthirsty bastards. Well, we’re gonna go down and say ‘hi’. Mercy, keep us updated on their movements. And if anybody gets shooty, knock yourself out.” “Will do.” “Jesus,” said Marty. He took one more look around. There wasn’t much in the way of cover until they reached the buildings. Low hills behind them, a few off to one side. Mercy was probably in them somewhere. The sneaky bastard could be under a rock for all he knew. He nodded toward another cart, parked a short distance away. “Kel, Wilco, over there. Wait for us, then go around the east side. Check each shack, look for the women and make sure nobody crawls up our ass once we’re in.” They nodded. “Cap.” Kelly and Wilkins stood and peered around the side, then ducked low and ran across to the other vehicle. There was enough junk and equipment scattered around to cover most of their way. When they were settled, Marty pulled a small, plastic case from a pocket in the leg of his pants. He held it out to Snow. “Do the honors?” Snow looked at his watch. “Not time yet,” he whispered. “Better I take it now than risk getting all twitchy in the middle of a fight.” “Dammit, Mad.” “I fall down, you’re in charge.” Marty rolled up his sleeve and waited. “I don’t want to hear that shit,” Snow said flatly. He opened the box, took out the hypo inside. He held it out of Kelly and Wilco’s sight as he loaded it. “I wish to hell your wife hadn’t told me a goddamn thing about it.” “That’s two of us, brother.” Snow jabbed the needle in a little harder than he needed to. Marty gave him a look, which he seemed to ignore. Cold fluid rushed in. He only felt it for a moment but it stung as much as the needle did. He closed his eyes and took inventory. Things ached, but he felt okay. Prayed he’d stay that way at least until they were done here. Then a few days in bed wouldn’t be so bad. “Cap?” He opened his eyes, blinked as they readjusted. Snow was frowning at him. His expression reminded Marty of the one Reggie wore whenever she lost him for a minute. It looked wrong on the big man’s face. Marty laughed softly and said, “Let’s go dancing.” They made their way to the rearmost pair of round buildings. Marty passed quietly between them, peeking in windows as he passed. No one home. Snow followed a few steps behind. They paused behind the last building and listened to the men talk. “Wouldn’t have thought he could go longer than two minutes.” “You’re a sick fuck for watching.” “Don’t know why he had to have them both at once. He’s only using one.” Marty didn’t want to know what was going on in there. But he did know. His finger twitched beside the trigger. He moved it, reminded it not to squeeze till he was ready. He thumbed on the radio. “There?” Wilkins replied, “There.” “Go.” They stepped around together, rifles aimed as soon as they had targets. Only one of the men was facing them. He stared openmouthed and put his hands in the air. Another turned, frowning. “What the hell’s your-- shit!” Both of the other men reached, but they stopped short of putting a hand on their weapons. “Lace your fingers on top of your heads,” said Marty. He spoke just loud enough for them to hear. No cause for alarm, folks. Well, that was a fucking lie. They did as they were told and Wilkins searched them while Snow and Kelly gave them incentive to hold still and shut up. Marty slung his rifle over his shoulder and unholstered his sidearm as he stepped up to the door. There were noises from inside that he tried not to identify. He took a deep breath and opened the door wide, planting a foot in its path so it wouldn’t swing back on him. One man in the single room, pants sagging down to his thighs, back to the door. He shoved up against a table, holding a woman’s bare calves in his dirty hands. There was another woman, bound, bruised, lying on a cot. She stared at Marty with wide blue eyes rimmed in red. “Get out, you fucking perverts!” Marty held the gun level with the man’s head. “Turn around, asshole.” He half-turned, cursed, and reached down to pull up his pants. “Hey now--” “Hands,” said Marty. The guy raised them, shoulder high. He turned slowly and fixed his eyes on the gun. The woman scrambled off the table. Marty didn’t watch her. “Gonna leave me standing here with my dick hanging out?” Marty holstered the gun and crossed the room. “No.” He lashed out with a boot, kicked the guy in the side of the knee. It bent inward with a loud snap and the man fell, wailing and clutching at his leg. Marty patted him down, found nothing. He kept his back to the women as he bent over and grabbed the man by the hair. “Ow, you fucker!” “You covered up, ma’am?” Marty asked. “Yes.” He glanced down. “Let’s go for a walk, dipshit.” The guy struggled some, then put his hands down on the ground to hold himself up as Marty dragged him outside and dropped him. He left the man in a whimpering heap and slipped back inside before the door closed. One of the women sat on the edge of the cot with a ratty blanket wrapped around her waist, pulling at the other’s bonds. She looked at him, looked him over. He did his best to tuck the mean bastard she’d just seen somewhere out of sight. “Can you help me?” she asked. Marty winced at the sound of her voice. He patted his thigh, drew her attention to the knife there. “Do you want me to cut her loose, ma’am? Or would you rather do it?” She sniffed and made nervous motions with her fingers as she glanced from the knife to his face and back again. Finally she held out a trembling hand. Marty unstrapped the knife and handed it to her still in the sheath. The woman on the cot still stared, even when her hands were free. Only now her eyes seemed fixed on nothing at all as she curled her arms underneath her. The other resheathed the knife and held it out to him. “You can keep it if it’ll make you feel better,” said Marty. “Do I need it?” “No, ma’am.” She waved it at him a little. He took it and put it back where it belonged. “I’m going to send someone in to have a look at you, ma’am,” he said. “He’s a corpsman. A medic. He’ll take good care of you.” She nodded mutely. Marty nodded back and stepped outside, closed the door quietly behind him. The man he’d tossed out was still complaining. “You fucker! You broke my goddamned knee!” For a second, Marty thought about breaking the other one. Instead he tapped Snow and glanced back at the door to the shack. “Knock first.” “Cap,” Snow nodded. He knocked, paused and went inside. The men they’d caught outside were on their knees in the dirt, hands bound behind them. The biggest one had a stream of blood leaking from his nose into his beard. Someone hadn’t been behaving. Marty glanced over all of them, trying to determine who was giving him the dirtiest look. One man had already pissed himself and refused to look at him at all. Scratch that one. “Who’s in charge?” he asked. Eyes darted to the man at his feet. The guy wasn’t paying attention to anything but his busted knee. Marty nudged him with a foot. He twitched and shouted, “Fuck you!” “You got a name?” The man cursed at him some more. “I think I’ll call you Bob. Got any records in this shithole, Bob?” The guy squinted up at him, let out a hysterical laugh. “Records? You’re here for fucking rec--” He blinked, swallowed loudly. “You’re with those people, aren’t you? Look--” “Records, Bob,” Marty said flatly. One hand let go of the knee and he pointed at one of the long buildings. “There.” “Wilco.” “Cap.” Marty nodded at Kelly. “Take him with you.” Wilkins gave him a dubious look, then headed out. Kelly trotted after him. When they were a good distance away, Marty turned his attention back to the prisoners. He was alone with them, essentially. Mercy was watching. But Mercy wouldn’t give a flying fuck about what he was going to do. “I’ve dealt with a lot of rapists, Bob,” said Marty. “Most of them were soldiers, or guys who claimed to be. They did it to demoralize populations, to control their women. Some groups even used it as a means of racial cleansing. Planted their own seeds in the neighbor’s garden, if you know what I mean. But I’m betting there wasn’t anything special running through your head. Not for God or country or the good of your race. You’re just a horny son of a bitch.” He drew the flechette gun and pointed it at the man’s head. No. He moved the barrel a few feet down and fired. Bob jerked, and red bloomed on his shirt. Marty holstered the flechette. “Why don’t you think about that for the next fifteen minutes or so.” “Jesus!” The guy was sobbing, clutching at his stomach. Coughing up blood. “Aw shit. Aw shit!” The others cursed and struggled. Marty wondered how many of them had indulged. Wondered if he’d feel so goddamned righteous when his buddy Bob started begging for help. Probably. “Mad, you’ve got incoming.” Riddick’s voice again. Mercy joined him. “Confirmed, Cap. Ship coming in from almost due north.” “Not ours?” “No, Cap,” they said in unison. There hadn’t been any sign of aircraft in Ty’s pictures of the site and the surrounding area. The damn thing must have been hidden. Or out of the range of their search. Marty scowled northward, but the hills were in the way. “Dickey, now would be a good time,” he said. “Coming in from the east. Any minute if this fucking readout’s right.” “Gotcha. Wilco, grab what you’ve got and get back here. Snow, get the women ready to move. Mercy?” “Be right there.” “You ain’t gonna leave me like this,” Bob moaned. Marty ignored him because that was exactly what he planned to do. He heard the whine of the engines as the craft slowed down for it’s approach. The ship sailed over the ridge at the north end of the camp. It began a slow circle as the truck bounced into view. He knocked on the door to the shack and shouted over the howl of the engines. “Snow, let’s go! Bus is leaving, Wilco, move your ass!” The ship was a little bigger than the Belle, and it looked brand new unlike everything else at the site. Black letters on the side read INDEMNITY. The side hatch began to rise while the ship was still in the air. Someone ducked underneath and opened fire. The truck roared up and skidded to a halt between the door and the ship. Gunfire pinged and thudded against the opposite side. Marty pulled the door to the shack open. “Let’s go!” Snow carried the blue-eyed woman in his arms. The other held onto him, stumbling along. Too slow. Marty ran in and scooped her up. She didn’t protest, but the other cried after her as he hurried out the door. He peeked around the side of the truck, saw Kelly leaning out with his rifle, cutting loose and adding to the roar. They handed the women up to Wilkins and Snow climbed in after. “We got everybody?” Marty shouted. Wilkins nodded. “Yeah!” Marty made his way to the cab, pulled the door open and dove into the passenger seat. “Go!”
Nineteen The cab bounced as the truck rumbled over the rocks. Marty’s ass had left the seat at least twice in the space of ten seconds. He held tight to the Oh Shit bar overhead and cursed under his breath. Riddick gunned it, jerking the wheel sharply to avoid a piece of rusted scrap in their path. The new course sent them over a length of pipe with a hard jolt. “Making sure you hit every single goddamn bump, Dickey?” Riddick grumbled without looking at him. They hit the flats and the ride smoothed out. The tires spun and loose rocks and dirt clanked against the bottom of the truck as he pushed the accelerator down to the floor. The engine growled loud, then settled to a low rumble that the seals all but blocked out. Marty turned around to tug at the sliding window between the cab and the bed, thought better of it, used the radio instead. “Snow.” “Yeah, Mad.” “They chasing?” He leaned against the door and rubbed at the cramp in his hip. “No, Mad.” He blew out a breath. “Anybody hurt?” “Wilco’s hit,” said Snow. He chuckled and continued. “But he’s bitching, so I think he’s fine.” “You fine, Wilco?” asked Marty. “Missing a chunk of my boot,” he said. “And my fucking /foot/, thanks.” Kelly broke in. “He’s fine.” “And how are the other ladies?” He could almost hear Wilkins giving him the finger. “They’re shook up,” said Snow. “They need to be examined better than I’ve had time for. Figured I’d leave that to your missus.” “First thing when we get upstairs.” “Yes, Cap.” The radio went quiet. Marty gave up on the hip. He had the feeling the damn thing was just going to hurt until it didn’t. He’d overused himself. Hard. He smiled. It was good to be sore for a reason instead of just sore. Riddick glanced at him. “What the hell are you smiling about?” “Nothing,” said Marty. “Thanks for the heads up.” “Yeah.” “Tell me about the dead folks.” “Dead folks.” Riddick cleared his throat. “Insurance people. They came in about four days ago on a boat called Actuary.” Marty laughed. “That must have been their drop, then.” “Why?” “Indemnity,” said Marty. Riddick shrugged and he continued. “Legal exemption from liability for damages. Money paid in compensation for loss or injury...” “How the hell do you know that?” “Killed a lawyer, ate his brain,” Marty deadpanned. “So why the hell are there insurance people out here on the ass-end of nowhere?” “The one we found said they were investigating the wreck.” Marty frowned. “Your wreck?” “According to him, they were here because of a discrepancy in their records. They saw the buildings, went down for a look. These guys came out of nowhere, shot the men and took the women.” “And he is where?” “Sent him upstairs with Jack.” Marty’s gut clenched and it had nothing to do with the looming seizure. He felt the old Captain’s bellow building and blew it away with a loud, violent exhale. “You put Jack on a ship with a complete stranger, then sent that complete stranger upstairs? Is that what I’m getting?” “That kid ain’t gonna hurt anybody.” “Goddamned good and sure of that?” Riddick scowled straight ahead so hard that Marty half-expected the windshield to warp and melt. “You didn’t see him, Mad. He was all skinny and pasty and beat up. Kept staring at her all fucking doe-eyed. She had him eating out of her hand in the space of five minutes. Yes, I’m goddamned sure.” The smirk got loose before Marty had a chance to contain it. Riddick turned the windshield-melting glare on him. “What the fuck is your problem?” “He a good-looking kid?” asked Marty. “How the fuck should I know?” “It’s a simple question, Dickey.” Marty cleared his throat, forced the amusement to bury itself. A little. “Is the guy butt-ugly, or could he possibly be someone that a young lady might find attractive?” The muscles in Riddick’s jaw worked furiously. He was quiet for a few minutes and Marty let him be. “Quit it,” Riddick said finally. “What?” “Being all intuitive and shit.” Marty gave a short laugh. They lapsed into silence and he watched the dull, oddly-tinted landscape pass. He caught himself halfway to dozing and straightened. “I’ve been thinking,” said Riddick. “Oh, Jesus on toast.” “You don’t approve, I know that.” “Of you thinking? Not in general.” “I’m serious, dammit.” “I don’t doubt it.” Marty shook his head. “But we’ve been through this already. We decided it was none of my damn business, remember?” “I know.” Riddick squeezed the wheel until his knuckles whitened. Then he loosened his grip and shook his hands out one at a time. “So you were thinking.” A grave nod. Furrow in the brow. Riddick licked his lower lip, had a few false starts, finally got the words out. “I love her,” he said. He shook his head. “I think I love her. I more than give a shit what happens to her, anyhow, which I can’t say for most people. But I don’t belong here. With her. I need to change, I know that, but it's not gonna happen this way. She accepts me for what I am. Or what she thinks I am. Problem is, I don’t want to be that, anymore.” “You tell her that?” Riddick glanced at him sidelong, tapped a fast rhythm on the wheel. “Uh-uh,” he said. “Shit.” “Yeah.” “Are you going to tell her?” “Of course.” Marty nodded and went quiet again. He didn’t have the slightest idea what to say and trying to come up with something on the fly was likely to result in anything helpful. Riddick was right. He didn’t approve. Part of him was shaking its ass on the inside. Jack had seen a lot for a girl her age, but she hadn’t seen enough to know what she really had in Riddick. Worse, she thought she did, and that was dangerous. “What made you help me?” Riddick asked. “What?” “You could have killed me,” he said. “You could have turned me in. You could have told me to fuck off and let me fend for myself. But you called in favors and pissed a couple people off to get my ass of the hook it’s been hanging on since I was a kid, Mad. Why?” Marty looked away. He didn’t want to answer this. Not now. He fixed his eyes on some distant point on the horizon. The pick-up site was coming up. He wished to hell it was closer. Riddick was watching him. Waiting. “You changed,” said Marty. There. Cryptic as all hell. Riddick shook his head. Goddamit. “No I haven’t. That was my whole point.” “You saved Jack’s life. More than once.” “Saved a lot of lives when I was with you.” “You weren’t with me, then, Dickey,” Marty shot back. Riddick blinked straight ahead. Frowned. He stayed quiet as the truck mounted a rise and slowed, easing down into the flat space on the other side. No ship, yet. The truck rolled to a slow stop and Marty opened the door. “People don’t change,” he said. “Not completely. But sometimes... one thing is enough.” He slid out and closed the door behind him.
Twenty Riddick stared at the door. The only sound was the muffled rumbling of the engine, like a big thing asleep under the hood. He turned the truck off and took the keys out of the ignition without looking. The cab got stuffy the instant the cool air from the vents died. He rolled the window down a few turns to let in the weak breeze. He hated this place. It was hot, it was bright, and he got fucked with every time he set foot on it. He considered the possibility that Marty’s departure was meant to end the conversation, wondered if he was supposed to follow. Riddick glanced out the window. Marty stood in front of the truck, shielding his eyes with one hand and gazing up at the sky. Not looking at him. Riddick stared hard for a moment. Marty didn’t turn. Nope. That was the end. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Brilliant insight into his own personal bullshit? He’d been warned enough times to know better. Maybe he just wanted someone else to know what was on his mind. Jack had griped when he sent her upstairs. Hell, she’d griped when they came downstairs together. She wanted to play with the boys. Wanted to see some action. Thought she was being left out. She had no fucking idea. Marty would have chewed his ass off if he’d brought her along, especially in light of their current situation. But the other option, sending her upstairs with Nathan and his Big Brown Eyes didn’t sit well, either. Jealousy wasn’t new to him. He’d had girls. Had them in the way a man had a good pair of shoes or a decent knife. There was a time when he wanted to hold onto what he had even if for no other reason than to keep someone else from having it. Different reasons now, but the territorial animal was snarling. It had made itself known in the urge to pitch Nathan back on the pile and leave him to rot with the rest of them. He wouldn’t tell her that part, because he knew just what she’d say. That is so hot. Romantic in a twisted way. Romantic. Balls. Marty pounded on the hood, pointed. The Belle was a tiny dot in the distance, growing slowly. Riddick prayed she was unmanned. The ship set down, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Not big enough to point them out to anyone who wasn’t looking, but he felt the urge to hurry anyway. Marty climbed up on the hood and waved him forward. He started the truck again and eased it up the ramp into merciful shade. Riddick slipped out of the cab and went for the tie-down straps. Snow stopped him. “Go up front and give Mad a hand,” he said. “Why..?” Snow was already turning away. Riddick frowned and made his way forward. The engines started warming as he ducked into the cockpit. He dropped into the co-pilot’s seat and strapped himself in. He watched Marty go through the pre-flight check. Nothing wrong, there. He wanted to ask. Shouldn’t ask. It would just piss Marty off and then there would be a long, quiet, tense damned flight back to the VQ. And he’d had enough tense today. Marty pushed the yoke in front of him toward the dash and locked it. “You take her,” he said. He looked at Riddick, shrugged. He leaned back in the seat and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I’m tired, man. Getting old.” “Getting,” Riddick snorted. “Not too old to kick your ass, though.” Riddick laughed out loud. “Don’t make me come over there,” said Marty. “You don’t have the grapes.” Snow stuck his head in the cockpit. “We’re set, Cap.” “Strap in.” The big man nodded and stepped away, closed the door behind him. Riddick eased the throttle forward. The floor vibrated under their feet, and as he eased the yoke back the ship rose into the air. She hung for a moment before her nose turned skyward and she began to rise slowly. There were clear patches, blue by the grace of the contacts that kept the light from overwhelming him. They reached the clouds and he glanced over at Marty, who had crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Riddick opened his mouth to speak, Marty beat him to it. “I’ve dispensed all the sage advice I’ve got for today. brother.” “How do you do that?” “Do what?” Riddick stared at him. “Forget it.” Something blipped. He turned back to the dash. Frowned at it when he couldn’t determine what had changed. Frowned some more when he figured out what had. In the corner of the nav screen was a set of blinking red letters. *REMOTE PILOT ENGAGED* “What?” The controls jerked in his hands and the ship banked sharply, tossing him against the straps. “Jesus, Dickey!” “The VQ’s got us,” he said. He punched at the disengage. Nothing happened. “Won’t let go.” “Just let her take us up, then,” said Marty. “They probably just forgot to turn off the--” There was sudden quiet, and a brief moment of weightlessness. Then the Belle turned her nose groundward and began to fall. “-- thing,” he finished. “This is not up. I’ve seen up, and this ain’t it.” Riddick tried to turn the yoke. Pushed against it hard, but it wouldn’t budge. “Steering’s locked,” he said. He punched in the code for remote release. It didn’t. “This is bad.” Marty leaned down and pulled open a panel on his right. He cursed and threw off the straps, slipped out of the seat and under the dash. “Get it back, Mad.” “Trying.” “Try harder.” Snow’s voice boomed through the overhead speaker. “What the--?” “Working on it!” shouted Marty. “Losing altitude real fast, here.” Riddick’s guts were trying to crawl up on him. He swallowed, then felt like an idiot for thinking it would help. “Shit, this again. This planet fucking sucks!” “Gravity has that effect, Dickey.” The sound of meat on metal from down on the floor. “Son of a bitch! Box is welded shut.” “What the fuck does that mean?” Panic burned the back of his throat. Marty didn’t answer. Instead he pulled his knife, pried, pounded and cursed some more. Then he set a hand on the seat and hauled himself up. “Go back there and get everybody into the truck.” Riddick blinked at him. “Can it fly?” “If I can’t fix this in a couple thousand meters, we’re gonna find out.”
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