The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [65]
“Have one on me,” the Guv offered. “Since we’re all going to be here for the rest of our unnatural lives. Not exactly the kind of welcome drink you get at the better outsystem hotels, but brewed with more honesty and care than you’ll find anywhere else. And the price is right.”
Riddick nodded. “Where do you get the water?”
The Guv gestured upward. “Distill it ourselves. Anytime you got this much water and this much heat, it ain’t difficult to put together a still.” He moved off, but stayed within earshot.
Displaying a certain coarse pride, the brewmaster offered a steaming cup to the new arrival. “Tobacco, syrmoss, bits and pieces of this and that. Sweetener when we can get it. Nothing harmful.” He grinned, showing an impressive deficiency of teeth. “Nothing diuretic. Tastes better than you think.” When Riddick kept his hands down and continued to eye the cup, the brewer’s attitude changed instantly. “What, you don’t want to drink the Guv’s tea?”
At this, a number of the other convicts in the immediate vicinity began to gravitate closer. In a moment, they had surrounded Riddick. A prisoner could go solo if he wanted to, but violating hospitality— that was something that could not be allowed to pass unremarked upon. Preparatory to making any remarks, several of the convicts had picked up fist-sized rocks or hand-made utensils.
“Maybe he knows nothing’s free in slam,” one of them commented.
“Got nothing to sell, nothing to trade.” Another greedily eyed Riddick’s boots and goggles, even though he had no idea of the special nature of those dark lenses. “Nothing he’ll give over voluntary, that is.”
“We can make him comply,” a third insisted, shuffling the sharp rock he held back and forth between his hands.
“Information,” exclaimed still another member of the gathering pack. “First newcomer in months. Information for tea. That’s a fair trade.”
“What kind of information?” the one who envied Riddick his boots snapped.
“News.” Two of the inmates voiced the wish simultaneously. “Outside news. Outsystem news. Like about the rumors.”
“Guards’ rumors,” growled a bigger man. “Shit and spittle.”
“No,” insisted his companion. “Too much natter about the same matter.” He looked hopefully at the still silent, attentive Riddick. “We hear things. Even down here. Visitors talk to the boss, boss talks to the guards, guards bitch among themselves. Talk about some kind of widespread invasion. Multiple worlds, not just one. Some kind of spirits, or spirit-infested folk.”
“More like gods, I heard,” another inmate chipped in uneasily.
“What planets? Which ones?” the second speaker demanded.
“They can’t be killed,” the one whose concern had prompted this line of talk insisted. “At least, it’s said that their leaders can’t. Because they’re already dead.”
Initially skeptical, the biggest of the convicts now found himself peering uncertainly at Riddick. “Is it true? Any of it? Or is it all interplanetary bullshit?”
Riddick let his gaze travel slowly over each and every one of them. “They call themselves Necromongers. And it sure as fuck was true on Helion Prime.”
Now he accepted the tea and drank thirstily from the metal cup. While he did so, the news rippled through the assembled convicts and rapidly passed up the rings of tiers all the way to the top of the uppermost prisoner level. Whispers winged from cell to workstation and back, traversing the prison like a bad wind.
“Helion Prime—they’re on Helion Prime. . . .”
One of the convicts who had spoken first stepped forward, his tone and expression a confused mix of pride and fear. “I’m Helion Four. You’re not just sunning us, newcomer? These people really exist, and they’ve taken Helion Prime?”
Riddick peered over the rim of the cup. “I was there. I saw it. I smelled it. Bunch of mercs snatched me clear.” His goggled eyes dropped back down to the cup. “Right now, not much difference between there and here. One hell’s noisier, the other’s hotter.”
Another inmate presented himself. “Helion Six— dammit. Still got family there.” His eyes pleaded with Riddick even if his voice