The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [60]
He handed one to the wary mercenary leader. “This is not the time for confrontation. Not when you hear what is happening elsewhere in the Arm. These are dangerous days for everyone, if you believe the talk.” Raising the glass briefly, he sipped at the contents. Heat that was not of Crematoria coursed down his throat and warmed his belly.
Accepting the other glass, Toombs eyed it for a moment—then nonchalantly poured it down an open hatch, much to the slam boss’s obvious disapproval. Toombs’s free hand continued to hover in the vicinity of his sidearm.
“Talk. What talk?”
Douruba turned introspective. “About some army. Appears out of nowhere. No indication of origin, no warning or quarter given. Not robots, but its soldiers fight like automatons. Absorb any healthy survivors. Strange beliefs—you wouldn’t believe some of the rumors. About dead planets, societies reduced to ashes. About ‘them.’”
The slam boss’s final word seemed to hang in the air, casting a further shadow over the already stressed negotiations.
Toombs refused to be distracted. “Here’s one for you that ain’t no rumor. Am I gonna get my money?”
Douruba sighed, downed the last of his drink, set the glass aside. “I can see that your interests are typically narrow. Tell you what: I’ll run the numbers again. Isn’t as simple as it sounds. Have to figure in how this new meat will interact with the system, what it might produce, stats in re potential disruption. It will take some time. Meanwhile, you and your team can stay as my guests. No hotel here, but it’ll get you off that little ship for a while, let you stretch your legs. At least here we’re all safe, yes?” He smiled thinly. “Just tell your people not to go for any long walks in the countryside.”
“They know,” Toombs replied. “Everyone saw, coming in.” He knew full well that the slam boss was stalling for time so he could look for an out. Preferably, but not necessarily, a legal one. The mercenary was not concerned. His formal filing and notice of intent to deliver had carefully complied with every relevant guild regulation. Let the boss have his math toadies run the regs. They wouldn’t find any holes. And as much as he wanted to be off and away from this miserable hot rock, a night in a real bed instead of the soggy slog that was cryosleep would do his body good.
“I’ll give it a day,” he finally announced. “One.”
The first assistant grinned. “And our days are fiftytwo hours long.” Toombs did not smile back. He knew that, and had factored it into his offer.
Douruba seemed pleased. “Fair enough. Anatoli,” he instructed the guard tech, “find our new friends some slots. Someplace comfortable. Someplace cool.” Having defused the looming confrontation, he returned his attention to the main console.
X
The winch that had been steadily lowering Riddick jerked to a halt about three meters above the floor of the cavern, leaving him still dangling in midair. Since it provided a good view of the lowest level of the prison, and never one to waste time that could be put to use, he utilized the opportunity to study his latest surroundings. It also helped to take his mind off the ache in his wrists.
The encompassing environment was less than salubrious. Sulfurous steam rose from fissures in the ground. Illumination was weaker here than higher up, adding further to the Dantesque aura of his new surroundings. At first, there was little sign of life.
Then three figures appeared. Emerging from a sizable fissure, they immediately spotted the man hanging from the lift chain and started toward him. Riddick eyed them with interest. They were completely covered in yellow dust. Clothes, exposed skin, hair