The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [48]
Satisfied that they were not going to be boarded or blown out of the rapidly darkening, star-filled sky, Toombs made his way to the lock-up located directly behind the cockpit. It had been designed and built with enough strength to contain a pack of rabid Sinurians. As such, it ought to suffice for one human prisoner. Even one named Richard Riddick.
Tightly bound, secured to the wall, and pretubed for jump, Riddick did not look up at Toombs’s approach. His attitude remained one of languid indifference. Someone other than Toombs might have been infuriated by the prisoner’s attitude. Not this time. The mercenary leader was not stupid. Riddick was static and serene in the same way as a coiled snake. Having been badly bitten once, Toombs had no intention of repeating the mistake. Despite the prisoner’s bonds, the merc kept his distance. His opinions, however, he was always ready to share.
“So,” he began conversationally, “where do we drop your merc-killin’ ass?” He feigned thoughtfulness. “Maybe Butcher Bay, darkside.”
Riddick considered the proposal, responded immediately. “Butcher Bay? Thelriss system? Ten minutes every other day on the dog run. Good protein waffles, too. Fauna, not veg.”
Toombs acted as if whatever the prisoner said had no effect on his train of thought. He would not admit that Riddick had derailed it slightly. “Or, hey, how ’bout Ursa Luna? Nice little double-max prison. Small, secure, compact. Civilized. Penal boutique.”
The big man shrugged. “They keep a cell open for me.”
Toombs nodded as if he had expected to hear something just like Riddick’s retort. “Real predictable, you know that? You know what I’m thinkin’ now?”
“That if your mother had known your father you’d be raising fruit on Bannkul IV?”
A muscle twitched in the mercenary’s cheek, but otherwise he showed no reaction. “I’m thinkin’ that all these joints are health clubs for waffle-eatin’ pussies. Just not right for an elite guest like yourself. Wouldn’t be doin’ you fair to let you off somewhere lotus land–like, where they might stick you doin’ somethin’ really hard time like clerical. Maybe we should think about uppin’ our game here. Someplace truly diabolical.” He stared down at the prisoner, in his own quietly sadistic way thoroughly enjoying himself. “Fine word, ‘diabolical.’ Five syllables, all of ’em totaling up to narsty.”
Up forward, the crew was listening. The copilot turned to her colleague and commented, keeping her voice down as she did so. “What the hell’s he thinking? Now.”
Riddick answered, since the pilot could not. But while his words were directed forward, his attention remained casually focused on Toombs. “He’s thinking triple-max. Only three of those slams left. Used to be more, but ‘civilized’ folk raised a stink, wouldn’t have ’em in their planetary backyard. NIMS—not in My System. Where there’s a demand, though, there’s always money to pay for it. Just keep it out of the sight of enlightened folk, that’s all. Out of sight, out of mind, but be sure an’ keep the minding part strong.
“Two of ’em way out in the borderlands other side of the Arm. Too far out of range for a shitty little undercutter like this with no legs. That leaves just one.”
Now Toombs did look irritated. He’d intended to shock Riddick with the destination, only to have the prisoner steal his thunder. While he dithered over how to recover the conversational high ground, Riddick finished the thought for him.
“That is what you had in mind, right? Crematoria?”
Toombs muttered something under his breath. “Fuck you. Feelin’ warm, yet? If not, soon enough.” Turning, he snapped an order over his shoulder. “You heard him. Dope it out.” He looked back at Riddick. “Good place to sweat some of the smart-ass out of a man. Or sweat him out, period.”
Forward, the pilot groused over his instrumentation even as his fingers were moving. “I hate this run. . . .”
“Just do it,” Toombs growled. The game wasn’t playing out as he’d intended. Unlike most of the runners he had tracked and brought down for the money, this prisoner wasn’t any fun.
Watching, evaluating,