by Jules 

PART EIGHT

Thirty-six

The AnoDyne Tower rose four hundred and sixty-five meters above the street, dwarfing the other buildings on the plaza.  Every twenty stories it drew in to create a broad balcony, each circled by greenery that spilled over the sides and clung to the cement, climbing its way down.  It was crowned by a dome of highly polished metal with a tall spike rising from its center like an arrow aimed toward heaven.  At its base, the first three floors were sheer and windowless; featureless except for an uneven, angular archway over the main doors.  

It was toward those doors that Cameron Coffi made his way, walking quickly and glancing at his watch, hand clutched around the handle of a black leather briefcase.  A light breeze caused spray from the plaza fountain to wet him as he passed it and he wiped impatiently at his face with the back of his sleeve, glancing about nervously to see if anyone was watching. 

His suit was slightly rumpled from ten hours on a Caravan Airways liner and he scowled as he smoothed it.  Atmospheric flight had never agreed with him, and even traveling first class hadn't enabled him to avoid the turbulence or the talkative woman in the next seat.  Too many cups of coffee and several little yellow pills later he was flying on his own and didn't care.

He paused in front of a plain silver box set into the wall.  On it was a small microphone and a clear pad to which he pressed his thumb.  Light shined from within as he leaned into the microphone and spoke, concentrating to keep his voice from wavering.

"Coffi, Cameron J."

Above him, security cameras whirred softly, dispassionate, black eyes glistening as they took him in.  The voice, when it came, startled him. 

"After-hour access...granted."

The light subsided and the door slid open, admitting him into the vast, empty lobby.  His footsteps echoed, painfully loud on the marble floor as he passed among the potted plants and pretentious artwork to the security desk at the rear of the room.  Two men sat behind the counter, leaning back in their chairs and gazing lazily at the bank of monitors.  One stood as he approached, the other looked as though he were half asleep.  

"How are you boys tonight?" he asked, flashing his best fake smile.

"Just fine, Mr. Coffi," replied the man who stood.  He towered over Coffi and his arms looked as if they might burst from his sleeves at any moment.  He handed over an electronic clipboard, which Coffi quickly signed and handed back.

"Signature confirmed," came a stilted, synthesized voice from the pad.  "Coffi, Cameron J."

"Thank you, sir.  Step this way, please."

Coffi dreaded the metal detector.  He carried nothing more dangerous on his person than his house keys for fear that his physical ineptitude would make a weapon more likely to be used against him than in his defense.  But he always felt a nervous twinge as the wand was run over him, fearful that it might make a mistake.  He'd seen it happen, men in suits more expensive than his escorted into the security office and searched by these glorified doormen.  

This guy was clean-cut, young, all business, with the glint of intelligence in his dark eyes.  He finished quickly and waved Coffi through with a smile.  The man sighed with relief smoothing his suit nervously and sparing a glance for the gun snapped into the holster on the guard's belt. 

"Thank you, Mr. Coffi.  You have a good night, sir."

Nodding, he flashed a muted version of the previous plastic smile and headed for the elevator.  "Eighty-six," he said, stepping inside.

When the doors closed in front of him, the dozing security guard tilted his hat back and rolled his chair up to the desk.  

He shared a nod with his fellow guard, then reached beneath the counter and pulled out a black canvas bag and slung it over his shoulder.  The two of them strode down the hall, headed for a bank of elevators opposite those Coffi had taken.  Pressing the "up" button, the larger man smiled. 

"Going up, Boss?"

Bender raised an eyebrow and snorted, "Sure as hell ain't goin' down, Corporal."

"Shit, Cap, I thought you fucked on the first date."  

"I keep telling you I'm not that kind of girl."

The doors dinged open and they entered, turning to face the front.

"Eighty-one," said Riddick, smirking as the doors slowly shut.  "That's not what I hear."

"Yeah, well, remind me not to bend over to pick up the soap in the shower anymore when you're around." 

Riddick watched the number above the doors as it rose steadily.

"Alright," said Bender as it neared eighty-one.  "Time to go to work."

*                    *                    *

Eighty-one floors up, they strode into the narrow, carpeted hallway and toward the stairwell at the other end. Through the door and up the stairs, boots clicking softly on linoleum.  Bender reached into what he referred to as his Bag of Tricks and tossed Riddick a silencer, then fitted one to his own weapon.  

At the door marked 86, they paused, then eased slowly into the small alcove that hid the stairs from plain view.  Riddick ran the memorized floor plan through his head, following the hall to the double doors at the end.  The executive boardroom.   Bender stepped into the hall, walking as though he belonged there, gun held low at his side.  Following, Riddick glanced both ways down each intersection as they crossed it.

Bender didn't  stop to check the doors, but kicked them in and stepped inside.  

There were five men at the table.  All but Coffi had their backs to Riddick and Bender as they entered the room.  He looked up, and Riddick felt a surge of pride at the look of terror in his eyes.

In a single, smooth motion, Bender raised his weapon and downed four of the men with silenced shots.  Before their bodies hit the floor, Riddick was over the table.  He backhanded Coffi and shoved him into a chair, clapping a hand over his mouth.  With his free hand he searched the man for weapons and found none. 

"He's clean."

Riddick pulled out a piece of broad cloth tape and plastered it over Coffi's mouth.  Bender holstered the sidearm and drew his knife.

"Not for long," he replied.

A dark stain appeared on the crotch of Coffi's pants and began to grow.

"Tell me who called the meeting and I won't tell anyone you pissed yourself before I even threatened to cut you," said Bender.

The prisoner nodded and Riddick removed the tape.  

"Hewitt,"  said Coffi.  "Arthur Hewitt."

"Thanks." Bender smiled and slipped the knife into his boot, then stalked around the other side of the table, picking up folders and emptying briefcases into the bag he carried.  The instant Bender walked away, Coffi turned to Riddick, speaking as though the other man were no longer in the room.

"I'll give you anything you want if you don't let that crazy bastard hurt me," he said.

"What makes you think I'm not going to hurt you?" replied Riddick.  

"Y-you look like a reasonable guy..." began Coffi.  Riddick had to wonder what sort of state a man had to be reduced to before making that kind of assumption about him.  "I've got money..."

Riddick kept his look carefully neutral and remained silent.

"No?  How about information?" Coffi tried.  "I--I can give you names.  Names of people who've offered  me millions to sell them projects we've developed for the military.  Please--"

"The military?" snorted Bender.  "Fascist pigs.  Kill him."

"What?!"  Coffi shook his head in disbelief, face crunching itself into a mask of fear and desperation.  

He tried to rise, but Riddick shoved him back down and put a foot on his chest.  Drawing his weapon, he cocked it and pointed it at the man's head.

"Oh Jesus, look, this thing, it isn't my fault, my boss just called me in as a consultant, oh shit..." Coffi blubbered, tears spilling over onto his sheet-white cheeks.

"Just kidding," chuckled Bender, slapping him on the back.  "You get to walk.  We've decided to keep our contract with AnoDyne, though in light of your company's recent lapse of responsibility, I think a price reduction is in order.  So, talk your superiors into it or I'll kill you, Cam, buddy.  I know where you live."

Riddick lowered his foot and holstered the gun, only to draw it again as Bender wheeled toward the open doors.  A woman stood in the doorway, a tray of steaming coffee mugs in her hands, each marked with the AnoDyne logo.  She blinked at the dead men on the floor, eyes wide, the cups sloshing as her hands began to tremble.

Shit.  A meticulously planned operation was about to turn sour because they'd forgotten about the chick who got the coffee.

"Marci, get the hell out of here!" shouted Coffi.  

Bender threw a left at Coffi that knocked him out of the chair. The tray dropped to the floor and the woman wheeled and ran.

"For fuck's sake, shoot her!"

Riddick's finger twitched on the trigger, but by the time he forced himself to squeeze it, she was gone.  The bullet hit the doorframe and ricocheted.  Cursing, he slid across the table and charged after her.  Legs pumping furiously, he caught up to her at the door to the stairwell, snagging her waist and shoving her against the opposite wall.  

She gaped at him as she struggled to catch her breath, managing to shake her head and gasp out the words. "Please, you don't have to do this." 

Scowling, Riddick swallowed hard as he leveled the gun at her head.  She made a small, terrified noise and slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and trembling.  

"Please," she sobbed, shaking her head.  "I won't tell anyone, I promise oh god please don't..."

Riddick's stomach clenched painfully and he tried again to pull the trigger but his hand had suddenly gone weak and wouldn't obey.  The sudden queasiness began to grow as Bender trotted up behind him.

"You missed," he growled.

Swallowing hard, Riddick ran the back of his sleeve over his forehead.  "It's under control, Boss," he said, though he wasn't sure he believed it, himself.

"Under control?" Bender repeated.  Squatting beside the woman he reached down the front of her shirt and withdrew a slender piece of silver plastic about half the size of a credit card.  It bore a small keypad and readout screen.  Riddick slumped.  The cops were already on their way. They'd never make it out through the ground floor in time.

"Go back to the boardroom," said Bender flatly, pushing the Bag of Tricks at him.

"Look, she already called the cops--"

"We'll discuss this later."  Bender's voice had dropped to the low, quiet, dangerous tone that Riddick dreaded and he knew better than to push his luck any further.  Nodding, he did as he was told, flinching and pausing to look back when he heard the muffled sound of a silenced shot from the way he'd come.

Withdrawing tiny plastic charges from the bag, Riddick wired them quickly and stuck them to one of the large panes of glass that made up three sides of the room.  He ducked behind the table as he detonated them, shattering the glass and leaving a hole large enough for a man.  

There were two packs inside the bag.  Withdrawing both, he pulled one on himself, adjusting the straps, then tossed the other to Bender as he entered.  Bender slipped into it and nodded toward the gap in the glass.  "After you."

Riddick backed up and charged across the room, leaping through the gap and into empty space.  He sailed away from the building as he fell, arms and legs outstretched.  Fingers hooked on the cord, he pulled it hard, jerked sharply upward as the chute deployed.  The wind chilled him, stinging his eyes and whistling wildly in his ears as he made a slow arc toward the ground, dipping behind some tall buildings and out of sight of those answering the call for help from the AnoDyne Tower.  

Six feet up, he released the chute and dropped, landing on his feet in an unlit narrow alley.  Trash lined the brick walls on either side and spilled into his path as he headed for the street.  His movements in the darkness were smooth and confident, but his mind was stumbling along, tripping over the bodies of the restless dead.  Bile rose in his throat as the woman's pleading voice came to him, echoed by every faceless enemy he'd ever downed in the line of duty.  

Duty.  His motivation had little to do with it and his reasoning was starting to unravel.  In order to absolve him of killing five people, they wanted him to kill hundreds.  Every man he'd killed before his life as a soldier had been with a very specific purpose.  Anger, hatred, survival.  Sometimes all three.  Not justification, but explanation for his actions.  These people...he didn't know them.

It was different for Bender.  People might as well be crash test dummies once they were labeled as targets and that's the way he wanted it.  He'd confessed as much one night when the two of them were piss drunk, and Riddick had resolved to feel the same, at least until he was a free man.  

But dummies didn't beg for their lives.   He hadn't killed her, and he realized now that he wouldn't have.

At the mouth of the alley, he slowed to take a look out into the street and something slammed hard into his face. Caught off-guard, Riddick was knocked flat on his ass, landing in a heap on rough cement. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"  Bender stood over him, just out of reach.  He pulled off the uniform shirt and hat, wadded them up and tossed them into a nearby dumpster.  When Riddick didn't respond, Bender kicked at the bottom of his boot.  "What?  You lose your balls and your tongue?"

Riddick was suddenly on his feet and swinging.  Bender knocked the hand aside and responded with a forceful jab of his own, catching Riddick in the eye and snapping his head back sharply.  Reflexively, Riddick swung his fist in a wide arc, but Bender stepped out of its path and caught it, twisting Riddick's arm behind him and slamming him face-first into the nearest wall.  Stars burst in his vision and before they faded he could feel Bender's presence close behind him.  The other man's weight forced him against the bricks and kept both of his arms pinned behind him.  Riddick's weapon slipped from its holster and Bender jerked behind him as he tossed it down the alley, where it skittered across the cement and out of sight.

"Are we finished?" Bender whispered roughly.

"I am," nodded Riddick.  With every ounce of strength he had, he heaved himself backward, muscling an arm free and reaching for Bender's sidearm.  His fingers only brushed the handle before he was spun around and struck hard in the side of the head with a fast left.  It was followed by an elbow that Riddick managed to divert, but in doing so threw himself more off balance than his opponent.  Bender's foot snaked around behind Riddick and swept his foot from beneath him while he delivered a straight arm across the chest that sent the big man to the ground.  

Riddick got his feet beneath him but was still crouched when Bender's foot caught him hard in the collarbone.  He grabbed at the boot, relying on Bender's strength to keep him from falling.  Twisting the leg, he yanked hard, pulling himself up as he slipped the boot knife from its sheath.  Somehow Bender kept his balance and threw his weight against his trapped leg.  Riddick let go and staggered back, bringing up the knife as the other man drew his weapon and leveled it at him.

"What the fuck is your problem?" panted Bender.

Riddick fought the urge to run.  He didn't think Bender would take him out over their tussle, but growing a conscience was an unpardonable sin in their line of work.  Nevertheless, as it always had when he was face to face with the man, the truth forced its way out.

"I can't do this, anymore."  The smallness of his voice as he said it surprised even him.   

Bender stared at him wordlessly for a long moment.  When he finally spoke, Riddick could hear a slight tremor in his voice.  "You felt sorry for her," he said.  "Shit happens.  It's taken care of."

"You didn't need to kill her."

"Mission would've been pointless if I hadn't.  You'll get over it."

"I won't," said Riddick, backing away.  His stomach churned and he swallowed hard as bile threatened to rise in his throat.  "I quit.  Send me back to prison, whatever, I don't give a shit.  I'm not going to do this anymore."

"No.  Uh-uh.  You don't get to quit," Bender shot back, shaking his head.  "For fuck's sake...Have you--have you lost your goddamned mind?  You leave the program and they don't send you back to the slam, Dickey, they blow your brains out and make you disappear.  Is that what you want?  To be put down like a rabid dog?"

"What the fuck do you care?" shouted Riddick, beginning to pace.

Bender shrugged, though the gesture seemed far from casual.  "Because you're a good soldier."

"Not anymore."

"Then because we're pals, Dickey," he said.  "We shouldn't be.  It's unprofessional and it's dangerous, but it's true."

He lowered the gun and took his finger off the trigger.  "This is the kind of thinking you do not need to do.  When you're a civilian again you can afford to have a conscience.  But not now."  His look was just short of pleading.  "Just do the job."

"I need more than that."

Bender's expression cycled from disbelief to disappointment to a tired sort of resignation that Riddick had never seen on him before.  "You don't get more."  Pausing, he added, "If you didn't want to be a killer, you never should have convinced people you were so fucking good at it." 

"You're good at it, too."

"It's what I was taught to do," he shrugged.  "I've just done it with the government's blessing.  It's not personal for me, Dickey.  I don't hate the people I kill.  That's the difference between you and I."

"And you think that's better?"

"No, just different."

They stood silently, studying one another for a long time in the dim light of the alley.  Riddick's heart thudded in his chest as his brown eyes locked on Bender's unnaturally dark ones.  When Bender spoke, his voice was soft and steady.

"Go."

Thirty-seven

Port Safi had sprung from the first settlement on New Tangier, founded by explorers and settlers from Earth's African continent.  A mix of colorful eastern marketplace and rough, frontier town, it was a landlocked port where the ships soared instead of sailing and dock men spoke not of the wily sea but the dangers of navigating deep space.  

The narrow, dusty streets were out of another century, cobbled with pale native stone and passing at irregular intervals beneath brightly painted archways.  Squeezed between restaurants, hotels and nightclubs were outdoor stalls with wooden racks displaying everything from jewelry and clothing to weapons and live fowl in wire cages.  Nearest to the port was a concentration of bars and brothels, built to resemble the older construction but a relatively new addition to a city where they'd once been outlawed.  

As the shuttle descended, Jack leaned her head against the cold glass, eyes scanning the city below.  Sparse housing on the outskirts of town soon drew together to form tightly packed clusters of low buildings, broken up by broad, busy streets and patches of green.  

The fringes of the port were marked by crisscrossing strips of faded runway that gave way to a series of landing pads and enormous hangars surrounding a main terminal.  From the center, a slender tower rose two hundred feet into the air.  The top bloomed outward, resembling a giant mushroom of glass and metal.

Rounding the tower, the ship settled on a pad marked with an enormous yellow MS-17.  Jack's heart skipped a beat as she glimpsed a familiar shape hunched in the shadows between hangars.  The Tolliver.  

Beside her, Reggie noticed it, too.

"I'll be damned," she said.  "It really is here."

Jack scowled at her.  "You didn't think it would be?"

"Well, I..." Reggie began.  She paused, then nodded.  "I wanted to, Jack.  You know, they probably--"

"I know," Jack nodded.  "They're not here."

Nevertheless, she kept her eyes on the Death Maiden's former shuttle, twisting a faded blue bandana in her hands.  Her hair had grown out some and she didn't need to wear the thing anymore, but it was all she had left of either of the men who had abandoned her.  

She sighed.   Not abandoned.  That wasn't fair.   Riddick had left her with Imam.  He'd made the man promise to take care of her, which gave her some comfort and something else, too -- the notion that he wasn't the same guy Johns had shackled to the bulkhead after the crash.  Maybe she couldn't be with him, anymore, but she hoped that wherever he was, he'd always be the man who had come back for her. 

Least he could have done was left a note, though.   What did a girl have to do?  Reggie had told Jack the shot that hit her in the shoulder would probably have killed him.  Not even a note.  Thanks so much.  Gotta go, now.  Jerk.  

Now she was headed to New Mecca, and though grateful for Imam's care, she wasn't sure what she would do when she got there.  Manny was coming, too, for though he didn't share Imam's faith, they'd become good friends in the weeks they'd spent together.  Reggie was going home to Shackleton to find a job she didn't like and make lousy money, as she explained it.  Jack wished she would stay.  The other woman's presence made her feel less alone.

The shuttle touched down and the pilot's voice came over the loudspeaker, asking everyone to collect their belongings and proceed in a slow and orderly fashion toward the exit.  People sprang from their seats almost before the ship had settled, gathering their things and quickly filling the aisles.  Imam, seated nearest the human log jam, did his best to avoid elbows and wildly swinging carry-on luggage.

Jack glanced down at the worn, half-filled rucksack under the chair in front of her.  She hadn't left home with much, and most of what she'd boarded the Hunter-Gratzner with was borrowed or stolen.  They'd let her sort through the recovered luggage for clothes that fit, and she'd done it, even though the idea gave her the screaming willies.  Most of it was guy stuff, anyway, and now that she wasn't traveling alone, she wanted to dress like a girl.

The crowd cleared out and the three of them rose in unison.  Behind them, Manny picked up his things and stepped into the aisle, shaking his head.  

"They'll run you down like a dog in the road," he muttered.

They headed down the rows toward the front of the ship, and with one last look at the Tolliver, Jack followed.

Inside, the terminal had high, rounded ceilings with panels of glass looking out on pale, blue sky.  The walls were covered with intricate mosaics with gaps where stones had fallen and not been replaced.  The artwork was interrupted every few meters by ads and the arched doorways of storefronts.  The entrance to the broad, central walkway was flanked by a pair of enormous stone lions with human faces and short, stylized wings folded behind them.    

"Wow," said Jack.  "They look a zillion years old."

"They are," said Manny.  "They were brought from a museum in Morocco, on Earth.  Part of the original town square."

"How do you know?" 

"I was born here," he smiled.  "My family still live in the Hindu quarter."

"Are you going to visit them while you're here?" she asked, shifting her bag on her shoulder.  Manny reached over and took it from her, slinging it over his own.  "Thanks."

"Your welcome," he said.   "No, not a chance.  I've quit yet another job and I'm still not ready to marry Devika from across the street.  I'll never hear the end."

They made their way to where a large, black board took up an entire wall.  It was covered with rows of letters and numbers.  Times, dates destinations, and the names and locations of ships willing to carry passengers there.  

"Departures," said Manny, scanning the list.  "There. The Gloria Dei leaves for New Mecca day after tomorrow.  Projected departure time five o'clock in the afternoon.  That reminds me, gotta set my watch."

A pair of uniformed men passed them by, walking slowly, their eyes lingering on the small group.  One lifted a hand-held radio and spoke into it.

"Can we get out of here, please?" asked Jack, tugging on Reggie's arm.

"It's okay," said Reggie, following her gaze.  "They've got no reason to be looking for us."

Manny and Imam exchanged a glance.  "Do you think they called the authorities?" asked Imam.

Reggie frowned.  "Will you guys not start being paranoid, please?"

"Aiding and abetting a known felon," offered Manny.   "Pretty serious stuff."

"Please, guys, I really don't think Cappy  would..."

"Reg," Manny said, setting a hand on her shoulder.  "I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you are a really shitty judge of character."

"Can we just go?" Jack persisted.  

Reggie flashed them each an exasperated look, then nodded.  "Okay, okay, we're going, we're going."

"Act casual," said Manny, causing Reggie to burst into laughter.

Jack tucked herself in between the men as they walked, glancing back to make sure that Reggie followed.  As they made their way across the terminal, she spotted uniforms near all of the emergency exits.   What if the cops really were looking for them?  What if they asked about Riddick?  Would they believe her if she told them he'd died in the crash?  With a pang of terror she thought, what if they already know he didn't?

They made for the exit, but the line to get through customs was enormous and there were security men with rifles stationed there.  Jack searched desperately for another way out and found none.  Another pair of uniforms walked past without giving them a look and she felt the rapid flutter of her heart begin to slow.  Maybe they're not looking for us and I'm just being a paranoid dipshit.

"Don't look now," said Manny.  

Jack turned to see four men approaching, uniformed, armed, and headed straight for them.

"Told you not to look."

"We're screwed," Jack said flatly.

A man stepped toward them and flashed a badge.  Jack spotted the words "Port Security".  Local guys.  Like it mattered.

"Lieutenant Wolfram, Port Authority," the man said flatly.  "I'm afraid the girl's going to have to come with us."

"Me?" Jack blinked.  

Reggie put a hand on Jack's shoulder and moved to stand in front of her.  "What's this about?" she asked.

Slipping the badge into a pocket, he pulled out a device with a keypad and a small screen.  Pressing in a quick sequence of numbers, he held it up so they could see.  The picture was a few years old, and the girl in it had a head full of long blonde hair, but there was no mistaking that it was her.  Below the picture Jack could barely make out the information, but big as day were the numbers declaring the amount of the reward for finding her.

She felt a rush of guilty pride at being worth almost as much as Riddick.

"This girl's father would very much like to see her brought safely home." 

Thirty-eight

Alone for two hours in an interrogation room, Jack felt her fear beginning to overwhelm her anger.  On the verge of tears, she looked up to see a short, thin man in a gray suit that would've been decent enough on someone who filled it out.  As it was, he gave her the impression of a kid trying on his father's clothes.  

I can take him.

"Hi, there, Jackie," he said, flashing a solid plastic smile and extending a hand.  "I'm Mr. Alpert, from the state department.  You can call me Scott."

Jack crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in the chair, silent and he withdrew the hand, sitting and placing his briefcase on the floor beside him.

"I know this all must be very confusing for you," he began.  

"You don't know shit," she spat.

He blinked at her owlishly for a moment, then brought the briefcase up to the table and opened it, pulling out a stack of papers.  He shuffled the stack for a moment, tapping the edges on the table to align them. Finally, he closed the case and replaced it on the floor.

"Your father is very worried about you," said Alpert.  "He's gone through a great deal of effort and expense to find you." 

Jack glared at the man on the other side of the table, wondering what it would be like to wrap her hands around his skinny little neck and squeeze until his face turned blue and his eyeballs popped out and rolled around on the table.

"I'll just bet he has."

"He's contacted authorities in nearly every sector of populated free space," he nodded, "In the hopes that someone would find you and see you safely home.  He's very right to be concerned.  This is no place for a young girl on her own."

"I wasn't on my own," she shot back.  "What if I don't want to go?"

"I'm very sorry, Jackie, but as a minor, you have very little choice in the matter.  It's a fact of life that headstrong teenagers have had to live with for quite some time."

"Up yours," Jack growled.  But her resolve was flagging.  Like it or not, they could make her go and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.  Thoughts of home and Dear Old Dad loomed large in her mind and her eyes stung as tears began to form.  "You can't make me go."

"I'm afraid we can," he replied.  "It is, in fact, the duty of the port authority to detain you, Miss Weller until such time as the representative appointed by your father arrives to collect you.  Look, I sympathize completely--"

"No you don't!" she shouted, leaping to her feet.  Jack almost smiled when the man pushed his chair back with a start and looked as though he were preparing to flee.  Seizing the opening, she slammed her fists down on the table and leaned toward him, causing him to push away further still.  "Look, you wormy, pencil-necked asshole, I'm not going and that's it!"

He stood and made a fumbling grab for his briefcase, clenching the handle with one hand and holding out another in a calming gesture.  "Miss Weller, please."

There were three sharp knocks on the door and it opened, much to Alpert's obvious relief.  A uniformed officer leaned in and nodded toward a figure in the hall behind him that Jack could barely see.

"Lawyer's here."   

"Tell him I'm not going!" Jack scooped up the plastic ashtray from the table and hurled it.  Not heavy enough to do any damage, it was deflected by Alpert's case as he quickly raised it. 

"Excuse me, Officer.  If I may?"  

Jack froze at the sound of the low, polite voice outside in the hall.  Her eyes fixed on its owner as he stepped past the guard and into the room, adjusting the small, rectangular glasses perched on his nose.  Jack stared at his face as he introduced himself.

"Hello, Miss Weller, I'm Charles U. Farley, of Gainer, McCauley and Dixon."

He was clean-shaven, with a bowed upper lip and a slight cleft in his chin.  His cheeks were rounded, but not fat, and his short, brown hair fell in small curls over his forehead.   When he lifted her hand from where it hung limp at her side, he smiled and his dark eyes sparkled.  Warm and dry, slightly callused, his fingers closed around hers as he leaned toward her and winked.  

It was then she spotted the small patch of gray hair over his right temple and the unnatural spark in his eyes.

Ohmigod.  Jack swallowed loudly and tried to keep her mouth from falling open.  Her heart leapt into her throat and began to pound wildly.  What the hell is going on?

"Everything's going to be just fine," he said, releasing her hand.  "I'll be with you all the way home to make sure you arrive safely."

Jack realized she was still gaping at him and forced her features into a scowl as she replied. "I told you dog-assed wankers I don't want to go."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said.  "It'll make the trip much more comfortable if you choose to cooperate."  

Reaching under his coat, he withdrew a pair of handcuffs.  "I would prefer these not be necessary."

"What kind of a sicko are you?" asked Jack, stepping away.

"Just so long as we have an understanding," he replied.

Jack nodded and hung her head.  "Okay, okay, I give," she said.  "Just don't chain me up."  She allowed herself to be led to the door, poking the officer in the chest as she continued.  "'Cause I'm not a criminal, you dickheads.  I mean, is that any way to treat a kid?  What the hell were you people thinking, locking me in an interrogation room for two hours?  No food, no water, nobody telling me what's going on?  I tell ya, there's probably a law against that kind of thing..." She let herself trail off as her new keeper herded her into the hall.

"Mr. Alpert, Officer," he said, shaking hands.  "Your people have all of the necessary paperwork.   If you'll excuse us, we've got a shuttle leaving in forty-five minutes.  Thank you so very much for your help.  Good work.  Absolutely fine work.  Thanks again."

He herded Jack down the long, narrow hall and out the front doors into the sunlight, where she stood, blinking for a moment before she looked up at him, shaking her head.  

"'Chuck U. Farley?'" she said, cracking a smile.

"'Dog-assed wankers?" Bender replied.  

"Just came to me," she shrugged.  

"That's alright," he laughed.  "If they hadn't already contacted the firm handling the case, you would've been rescued by the law firm of Johnson, Wang and Percy."

Jack laughed out loud for the first time in weeks.  She glanced up and down the street, frowning. Bender watched her for a moment, then set a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "Sorry, Sweetheart," he said.  "He's not here."

Jack sighed and followed Bender as he started down the crowded street.  "Do we really have a shuttle to catch?" she asked.

Nodding, he took her hand and crossed the street, swerving to avoid a man on a dangerously overloaded bicycle.  "We have a ship," he said.  "In a couple of days."

"So where the hell are we going in such a hurry?"

"Where'd you learn to talk like that?" chuckled Bender.  "You sound like a fucking sailor.  Must be the company you keep."

"Do I get to keep it?" she asked, fixing her eyes on him.

He turned to meet them and offered a small smile and a nod. "Yeah," he said.  "For what it's worth."

She smiled broadly.  Marty as a consolation prize wasn't such a bad thing.  "You clean up good," she smirked.  "Look good in a suit."

"I do, don't I?" he grinned, smoothing his tie.  "Damn good."

"And you did all that without kicking the shit out of anyone," said Jack, grinning.  "I'm impressed."

"Well," Bender replied, scratching at the back of his neck and uttering a short laugh.  Then he leaned toward her and whispered, "Maybe just a few people.  But hey, if you didn't see it, it doesn't count."

They passed shops and restaurants and street vendors, some of whom waved their wares at passers by, while others remained in the shade of their booths.  Bender brought them to a stop under a sign that read "Sadiku's" and pulled her inside.

"We're having lunch?"  asked Jack, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh."  

Inside, a man stood at a podium, wearing a suit and a bright red fez.  He smiled broadly as they approached.

"Mr. Bender," he said.  "Your party is waiting in the private room."

"Thank you kindly, Faisal."

Dumbfounded, Jack let herself be led through the dining room, weaving between tables until they reached a beaded curtain in the back.  Bender parted the curtains for her to pass and Jack glanced at him, puzzled, before entering.

The room was small and square, with painted plaster walls hung with large, colorful scarves.  At its center was a single, round table, and even in the low light, Jack easily made out Manny, Imam and Reggie as she stepped inside.  

She paused, eyeing Bender as he squeezed past her through the doorway.

"Does somebody want to tell me just what the hell's goin' on?" she asked.

"Happy birthday, Jack."

Riddick's voice.  She whirled to find him standing behind her in the spot  Bender had just left.  Her mouth worked, but nothing came out, and finally she turned and punched Bender hard in the arm.  

"You big, fat jerk!" 

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He chuckled and rubbed his arm.  "You don't like it, I can always take it back."

"'Cept I'm the one with the receipt," said Riddick.  Jack frowned at him as he rolled his sleeve up just above his elbow to reveal a series of numbers in black ink circling his arm and starting with 7-8-7.  

"What does that mean?" 

"It means my man Dickey, here, is street legal," he replied, dropping into a chair.  "It means that right now, law enforcement databases all over free space are being updated.  His criminal record is being erased, and all rewards for his capture rescinded.  He's a free man, Jack."

She shook her head.  "I don't get it."

"Once you're a Nebula," said Riddick.  "You're a Nebula for life.  Marty might be retired, but he's still got pals that are in, people who owe him their asses, and some of them have reached some seriously high-ranking positions."  

He nodded toward the table but Jack stayed where she was.  She caught his eyes, flashing in the dim light, and held them with her own.

"So," continued Marty. "Lots of people owe me and I decided to collect.  They paid up what they promised.  Join the Marines..."

"See interesting places..." threw in Riddick.

"Meet interesting people..."

"And kill them," they finished together, laughing softly.

"They told him if he did it long enough his debt to society would be paid in full."

Riddick started toward the table again and this time, Jack followed, taking the seat he pulled out for her.  As he pushed in the chair, his hands brushed the back of her shoulders and raised goose bumps on her skin.  She watched him as he sat beside her, still wondering if she was going to wake up in a stark interrogation room with tacky linoleum, or a cramped seat on the shuttle.  Her other friends smiled and greeted her but they seemed a million miles away.  

"So, what about me?" she asked suddenly.  "What happens to me, now? I mean, sooner or later someone's gonna realize what happened."

Bender held up a finger, "Ah.  This," he said, slipping a small sheaf of papers from his briefcase and holding them up, "Is a copy of the last will and testament of Jackson Graham Weller."

Jack blinked at him.  "How did you get that?"

"Are you serious?"

She shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile.  "Okay, yeah, stupid question."

"According to this document, a trust fund totaling twenty-five million US dollars will be awarded to one Jackie Marie Weller on her eighteenth birthday according to the calendar on her planet of origin.  For folks without a scorecard, that's when eighteen years have passed on Earth since she was born.  If, at that time her registered legal residence is the same as her father's, regardless of where it is located, he will receive an equal sum and shares in several companies that are currently held by the late Mr. Weller's estate."

"And...?" said Reggie, nudging Bender.  "C'mon, Marty, spill."  She paused, glancing around the table then back to him.  "It is good news, isn't it?"

"And I'm not going back there," said Jack, leaning her elbows on the table.  "So it doesn't matter."

"On the contrary, Jack," said Bender, flipping through the pages and pulling out a single sheet. "You might want to consider it."

"You plan to tell me why?"

"Absolutely," he replied.  "The will goes on to explain, in detail, what will happen to the additional funds and the shares if Jack does not live with her father when she reaches her majority--"

"Stop talking like a lawyer, Marty, you're giving me the creeps," Manny broke in.

Laughing, Reggie shushed him.  "And...?"

"And here," said Bender, holding the paper out to Jack.  

Looking at him through narrowed eyes, Jack took it looked it over, her eyes drawn to several lines highlighted in yellow.  She read the words but couldn't quite make sense of them.

"In plain English, it's all yours, Jack.  Every penny."

Her mouth fell open and a small sound of surprise escaped.  Millions of dollars and a way to make more.  She'd never have to work.  She'd never have to save up for anything.  Hell, knowing the way her grandfather had handled his money, she could probably sell the stocks and buy a small country.  

"For real?" was all she managed to say.

"For real," nodded Riddick.

"So I just hang out for a couple years and don't get picked up by my old man's goon squad, right?" her voice wavered, and Jack wasn't sure if she was on the verge of tears or laughter.

"Not a concern," smiled Bender.  Leaning back in his chair, he made a beckoning gesture toward the door and a young woman entered, holding a tall, round cake surrounded by roses of pink frosting and topped with lit candles.  "We'd sing," he said, grinning. "But it's damned unbecoming and besides, I don't want you to hit me again."

Jack, still reeling, finally leaned toward laughter as an outlet for her shock.  Grinning so broadly the muscles of her face began to hurt, she watched the waitress set the cake on the table.  There were no words on top, just delicate, sugary roses and pale, green leaves.  The thing looked like a lifetime's worth of cavities on a plate.  

Glancing toward Imam, Jack saw him smiling back at her.  He'd been silent the whole time, sitting calmly with his hands folded on the table in front of him.  Probably thinks we're all nuts, she thought.  As though he'd heard, his smile broadened and his dark eyes twinkled in the candlelight.

"Make a wish, Jack," said Reggie.  

With a lingering, sidelong look at Riddick, Jack took a deep breath and blew out the candles.  When she turned back to look at him again, he cracked a small, almost shy smile and nodded toward the cake.

"Count the candles," he said softly.

She did as she was told, frowning at the results.  "There are eighteen candles on this thing."  It felt as though gears were turning in her head but all the belts and hoses weren't connected.  I'm missing...what?  What am I missing?  Bender's voice echoed in her head, then, and suddenly her eyes grew wide and her heart began to flutter wildly.  That's when eighteen years have passed on Earth.

Meeting Riddick's eyes, she watched him watching her and thought back to her wish.  Here's hoping.

"So you guys are saying that I can march back home right now, collect fifty million dollars, wave it under my dad's nose and he can't do a thing about it?"

"That pretty much sums it up," said Marty.  "Yeah."

"So guys'll all want me for my money, then?"

Bender nodded. "Absolutely."

"I have no problem with that."

Laughter erupted at the table and the room filled with sound as they picked up menus and began to talk -- about the trip here, about where they were going next, about...things.  Bender filled in details and Jack couldn't help but smile to herself as Reggie's chair scooted closer and closer to his.  Manny and Imam sat beside one another, miraculously managing not to bump into one another as they spoke and gestured broadly with their hands.  Like a family, thought Jack.  A messed-up family, but they're mine.  Her smile broadened.  They really are.

Leaning toward Riddick, Jack whispered.  "You came back."

"I did," he nodded, eyes on the menu.  "Order big, Marty's picking up the check."

"Why?"

"Because he's loaded."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she laughed.  

"Mm-hmm."

"You gonna tell me?" 

"No," he said flatly.  She could see the corners of his mouth beginning to hitch upward.

"Why not?"

Riddick folded the menu and set it on the table. "Know what you want?"

"You got a license to carry a loaded question?"

His laughter was sudden and loud, and it caught her by surprise.  It held no hint of sarcasm, just genuine amusement.  Conversation at the table halted and Jack flushed to find that they were now the center of attention.  Nothing to see, here.  Move along, move along.

Chuckling, the others turned their attention back to the menus, Manny cheerfully translating and getting more than a few odd looks from Reggie as he named ingredients.  

He took a deep breath and let out a long, drawn-out sigh, then leaned back in his chair.  He picked up a spoon and turned it over in his hands for a moment, then raised his eyes to hers.

"You know how you start feeding a stray dog, and it follows you home?"

She nodded mutely.

"So, it follows you home, and you keep feeding it even though you know you shouldn't.  And then you let it in the yard, and in the house, and before you know it, it's sitting with you on the couch watching TV every night and you don't know how you ever lived without it?"

Jack swallowed loudly.  It wasn't exactly a declaration of undying love, but she figured it was as close to one as she was likely to hear.  At least for now.  

"Sure do," she nodded. 

He looked relieved, though whether because she understood or because he'd managed to explain himself in a roundabout way, Jack wasn't entirely sure.  

"Yeah," he replied.  "I guess you do." 

Epilogue

"Take care of yourself."

Reggie smiled nervously up at Marty and nodded, rocking a little on her heels as she replied,  "Do my best." She kicked herself inwardly.  What are you, thirteen?

He returned the smile and she felt a twinge in her stomach, followed by a sudden, spreading warmth that reached her face.  I'm blushing.  I don't believe this... She wondered what would happen if she kissed him again.  While she was still working up the courage, he leaned down and kissed her gently, almost chastely on the lips, his hand brushing her shoulder.  

Pulling back, he hitched his bag up on his shoulder, looking self-conscious for the first time since Reggie had known him.  

"I don't know what happened," he said with a light shrug of his broad shoulders.  "But I hope it happens again someday."

Reggie stared at him, forcing into her expression a calm she didn't feel.  She wanted to say something else but nothing worthy presented itself.  That didn't stop her from trying.

"I--" she began.  She was interrupted by a voice announcing the last call for the Gloria Dei, the ship the others had already boarded.  "You're gonna miss your ride."  

"Yeah," he said.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an envelope and pressed it into her hand.  "See ya around, Doc."  He retreated a few paces, then turned and headed down the hall to the waiting ship, giving a short wave before he disappeared around the corner.

Reggie gazed down at the envelope, frowning at the neat, black letters, all caps, on the front.  Bender's writing.  She knew she would keep the thing long after it had served its purpose, whatever that might be.  She smiled at the space where he'd been standing only five minutes before, looking at her as though she were the only other person in the world.

Then, sliding a finger beneath the envelope's flap, she tore across and peered inside.  What she found was a thin, plastic card, bright yellow, with small, raised letters and dark green MegaBank logo on one side and a white coding strip on the other.  Drawing the card from the envelope, she examined it closely.  The raised writing on the front turned out to be her name and a long set of four-digit numbers.  A bank card.  She flipped the envelope over and read the front again.

TWO THOUSAND FORTY-THREE ZAGORA

An address.  With a nervous glance over both shoulders, she tucked both card and envelope in her pocket and headed for the street.

The cab dropped her off in front of a towering, almost shrine-like building with broad, low stairs and two sets of glass and metal doors that were obviously not a part of the original structure.  Reggie sighed and pushed her way through the door, then headed toward the counter, walking quickly, as though she knew what she was doing.

Halfway across the lobby a man in a neatly tailored blue suit moved to intercept her, a broad smile revealing perfect, white teeth beneath his dark mustache.  

"Miss Pierson," he said, extending a hand.  "My name is Surya Uday.  I'm the bank manager, and a friend of Mr. Bender's."

Jesus, she thought.  Does the guy know everybody?

Reggie took the offered hand and shook it briefly, smiling past her confusion.  "I'm afraid I really don't know what this is all about," she said.

"No problem," he replied.  "Right this way."  

He motioned her toward a small, semicircular counter set into an alcove toward the rear of the bank lobby.  Behind it was an unmarked stainless steel door.

"Your card, please, Madam."

"Oh, um..."  She withdrew it and held it out.  Shaking his head, the man motioned toward a keypad with a slot on the side.  Feeling herself flush, she ran the card through, frowning when the prompt asked her for a her personal identification number.  Smiling sheepishly at the bank manager and shrugged.  "I don't--"

"Here you are," he said, handing her a small, manila envelope.  "You may feel free to change the code once you've confirmed it in the system."

"The...?" Shaking her head, she tore open the envelope and pulled out a piece of plain white paper, folded in two.  Opening it, she saw a long number, nine digits, like all bank ID's were these days.  787-471-964.  The numbers looked familiar and it was only a moment before she realized where she'd seen them -- tattooed on the skin over Marty's ribs. 

"Mr. Uday..." she began, pausing as first one door, then another slid silently open.  Reggie didn't continue as she found herself face to face with a room the walls of which were lined floor to low ceiling with small, numbered, metal doors.  At the room's center were a table and two chairs.

"Number five-eight-eight," said Mr. Uday.  "Scan the card and enter the number again, then please feel free to have a seat and examine the contents of your safe deposit box as long as you like."  He pointed to a button beside the door through which they'd entered.  "When you're ready to exit, just give this button a push.  Is there anything I can bring you?  Water?  Coffee?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she said.  Though something stronger might do.

"I will give you some privacy, then," he said, slipping out the door and closing it behind him.

Reggie stood alone, staring after him for a long moment, then she did as he'd instructed, her heart racing.  Safe deposit box?  She found 588 and slid the card through, punching in the long number with trembling fingers.  With a quiet whoosh, the drawer slid out, revealing a plain brown leather backpack.  Cautiously, she lifted it and brought it to the table, sitting as she undid the straps that held it closed.  With a deep breath she flipped it open and peered inside to be greeted by yet another envelope, this one entirely unmarked.  She lifted it, almost dropping it again when she saw what lay beneath.

Money.  A quick glance showed her at least a couple thousand riyal.  Blinking, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the neatly folded letter inside.

Sorry about the cloak and dagger bit.  You would have refused the envelope if you knew what it was about.  The stuff in the bag is spending money.  Go shopping.  Buy a car.  Knock yourself out. 

At the bottom of the bag is a manila with a bunch of papers in it --  a ticket to Haversham, an orientation booklet, your course requirements and your acceptance to Foster University. 

The account holds enough to cover tuition and living expenses.  If you should decide not to go back to school...just live it up for awhile.  I'll be in touch.

Marty

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THE CREW of the DEATH MAIDEN

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The characters of Fry, Imam, Jack and Riddick belong to USA films.  
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