The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [45]
Riddick ignored him just as he ignored the others. Moving fast, he found what he was looking for: the gap bordering one of the many stabilizers that kept the huge Basilica ship level on the surface of Helion Prime. There was more than enough room for him to drop through the opening to the surface below. He moved toward it.
And halted when a gravity orb intercepted him. If he hadn’t seen it coming, it would have taken off his head. A smaller version of the one he had previously watched smash dozens of Helion soldiers in the city plaza, it positioned itself in the gap, blocking his exit like a live thing. No doubt similar orbs had been deployed to prevent his escape at other exposed locations throughout the ship.
There was noise and commotion behind him. Elite soldiers were pouring into the engineering room, drawing weapons as they ran. Seeing them, Riddick pulled the pistol he had appropriated. But instead of firing at the oncoming troops, he turned and threw it as hard as he could, directly into the slowly rotating orb.
Programmed to attack anything that impacted on its field, the orb promptly contracted around the weapon. The result was that, where a moment before a solid sidearm had been spinning through the air, a piece of compacted metal no bigger than a fingernail now fell onto the stabilizer housing, landing with a tinny clink. The way now clear, Riddick leaped for the opening and threw himself into the gap. Landing on a portion of the stabilizer housing, he clambered down it like a gibbon. Above, soldiers arrived and gathered around the opening. A few pointed their weapons downward at the retreating figure, but did not fire. Their line of sight was not good, and there was too great a risk to the stabilizer mechanism itself.
With the vast bulk of the Basilica looming above him, Riddick emerged in the rubble of buildings that had been crushed beneath the great weight of the Necromonger command vessel. He was free. If the craft above him shifted even a centimeter or two in any direction, he would probably be crushed. But that would require reprogramming its position. By the time anyone might think to do so, he would be gone.
And he was, out from beneath the ship and clear of its threatening mass in a matter of minutes, disappearing into the ruined warren of streets and blasted buildings that had been the Helion capital.
Settling on a suitably inaccessible basement for a hiding place, he waited there for nightfall, when his unique eyes would once more give him an advantage over his ordinary, day-sighted brethren. Emerging only then, he was gratified to see that he was not alone. Numbers of citizens were about: moving fast, not wanting to be picked up for questioning, rooting through the rubble of their city in search of anything useful. They reminded him of ants scrabbling over the remains of a picnic. As he looked on, men and women stumbled out of the ruins carrying all manner of goods, from small valuables to still functioning electronics. He shook his head disapprovingly. Within a day or two, they would be trading such trifles for food and water.
Only one artifact interested him. Pulling the ship locator from a pocket, he activated the device and waited. He did not quite hold his breath. As it developed, he did not need to: the unit was working perfectly. The merc ship was right where he had left it, buried in the dunes, sending out a strong locator signal as it awaited the return of its crew. Him. Even if the Necromongers had by chance happened to have found it, he didn’t think they would bother with the hidden vessel. So far, that was apparently the case. Small and unarmed, it posed no threat to their invasion.
Aligning himself with the route the ship locator helpfully suggested, he started off purposefully through the destruction.
A few, but not all, of the survivors paused to glance in his direction. That was all they did. They were too busy trying to decide what to do next, how they would