The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [17]
She moved to shepherd the girl out of the antechamber. As she did, Riddick took a step forward. Imam tensed, but their visitor only gestured inoffensively at the child. “And a daughter. Named?”
Imam licked his lips. Now more than ever, it was important to do and say the right thing. Other lives than his were at stake. He had traveled with this man, had suffered tragedy beside him, but he did not know him. He doubted anyone did.
A wise man once observed that in attempting to determine whether a bomb was a dud or not, it was best not to try and find out by hammering on the detonator.
“If you have issue with me,” he finally responded, “let it be with me alone. You have no quarrel with anyone else in this house.”
“Named?” Riddick repeated softly, his tone unchanged.
Stubbornness would gain nothing here, Imam knew. His visitor was a master of patience. “Ziza. Her name is Ziza.”
At the sound of her name the girl cocked her head slightly and met the big man’s gaze without flinching, armored with the bravery of innocence. “Did you really kill the monsters? The ones that were gonna hurt my father? On the dark planet, where the sun went away and the nightmares came to life?”
Instead of replying, Riddick shot a look at the man he had come to see. Without saying a word, his expression clearly conveyed his query: She knows about that?
Imam shrugged slightly. “Such are our bedtime stories. You know children. They want to know everything, especially about their parents. Ziza is very mature for her age.”
Like magic, the blade in Riddick’s hand vanished from sight. Imam did not quite breathe a sigh of relief. He knew the knife could reappear just as quickly.
It was as if a signal had been given to Lajjun to leave and take the girl with her. She complied, despite Ziza’s desire to remain. The child was fascinated by their visitor. She was not the first to be so.
“Who did you tell?” Riddick asked resignedly. “Who do I now gotta put on a slab just to get this rancid payday offa my head? You should’ve kept your mouth shut, Imam.”
“Events conspire.” His host had relaxed a little since his wife and child had been allowed to leave the room. “You wouldn’t find them. Even if you looked.”
The big man almost, but not quite, grinned. “Why would I look? When you can bring them right to me?”
“It is not so easy as you think.”
The shadow of a smile vanished immediately. “Don’t talk to me about what isn’t easy. My whole life has been about surviving what isn’t easy.” He gestured slightly with his right hand. It remained empty. “If communications still function on this overlit ball of dirt, it’s time to use them.”
IV
They waited together on the small veranda of the upper floor: two men who had been through a difficult time together, surviving when all around them had perished. It was all they had in common, but it was enough for the moment, Imam knew. How long the bond would hold he did not know. Long enough, he hoped. Long enough to give him time to at least explain himself.
For now, though, they passed the time in contemplation of the night sky. The glow of the great beacons made it impossible to see more than a star or two. Still, by focusing on a chosen corner of sky, it was possible to observe a small section of the universe in all its nocturnal splendor. Growing up, and for most of his life, Imam had regarded it with a mixture of wonder and anticipation. Now it had become home to something dreadful. Perhaps the end of everything he had known. Much depended, perhaps, on the man standing nearby. Knowing what he did of his guest, it seemed a terrible risk to settle so much hope on so unpredictable an individual.
A comet was crossing the sky, high in the east. Some things, at least, would not be affected by what was rumored to be out there. The thought helped to calm him.
“Nero died, the Roman empire lapsed into civil war, a new Caesar came to power, and Old Earth was forever changed. All under the watchful eye of a comet. Throughout human history, comets have been considered auguries of violent