Riddik's Story: Escape

::You couldn't sense her at all?::

::No,:: Twenty-Eight answered, tails twitching but, thankfully, not lashing. Too much movement-- especially of something that white-- would give them away. Still, he was obviously disturbed. ::It was like her mind wasn't even there. Not even the construction mages' protection spells could do that.::

Riddik frowned, thinking over their options. They were crouched in a dim by-way of the space-port, somewhere Riddik's light-sensitive eyes weren't blinded with the loss of his goggles. That would be a problem until he managed to find or make some new ones. ::Then I guess we'll have to be careful,:: he said at last. He hadn't ever really relied on the feline construct, and now was obviously not the time to start. However, he wasn't about to let a resource go to waste, either. ::You could sense the drak, I assume?::

::The what?::

::The drak. The big, black thing that pounced you.::

::Oh, that.:: Twenty-Eight paused, thinking back the few minutes to when they first fled. ::Yes. Yes, I could.::

::If you can sense it, you can affect it. If they find us, focus on him. I'll deal with the woman.::

Twenty-Eight shot him an annoyed look, as if he was offended that Riddik thought he needed to tell him that. Riddik smirked at him. ::Perhaps,:: the cat suggested, ::we ought to just leave and go to the next port.::

::Still need supplies,:: Riddik shrugged. ::Fuel, food, all that shit.::

::So let's get it and leave!:: Twenty-Eight grumbled. ::What did she want with you, anyway? She wasn't Kinauan.::

Riddik shrugged again. ::Could be anything. She might recognize me from somewhere else, I have a bit of a reputation. She might be a slaver and thought I'd make a good sale.:: He grinned toothily. ::She might just've liked the way I look and figured she'd take me home the caveman way.::

All he got in response was Twenty-Eight's disbelieving snort.

::Think if I gave you some money you could do the buying for us?:: Riddik asked, changing the subject. ::I won't be able to see much out there.::

::I can't promise I'll know what I'm buying,:: Twenty-Eight answered doubtfully.

::Describe things to me. Send me pictures. You can do that, right?::

The cat flicked an ear, thinking, then nodded. ::I suppose so.::

::Then I'll stay here, and you bring things back.:: He dug around in his pocket for a few of the coins he'd scrounged from the ship. ::These ought to be good here.::

Twenty-Eight managed to collect them without dropping any, tucking them into the tight coils of one of his tentacles. ::If they find you, call me. I'll do the same.::

::If they find you,:: Riddik told him, ::lead them back here.::

Twenty-Eight sighed at him, but didn't protest. Instead, he just turned, peered out of their shadowed alley, and padded away once the coast was clear. Riddik, left behind, rested his head back against the cold concrete of the building that hid him and shut his eyes. He kept his other senses alert-- ears, nose, and mind-- but his eyes weren't much use in the brightly-lit spaceport.

It hadn't been particularly intelligent to visit with the big human, he knew, but he'd been curious why she was staring-- not so much at him, but at Twenty-Eight. Her interest had only shifted to him once he started talking. That didn't suggest to him that she was a mercenary or even law-official trying to bring him in. If she had been a thief, she would have been more subtle than just demanding he go with him. He doubted she'd been intending to take Twenty-Eight back to Dev'anon Kinau for some kind of reward, since it was him she'd wanted to take-- and besides, Riddik had never heard of Kinau's constructs before he'd crashed there, so he doubted she even knew what he was besides some rare alien.

So what had she wanted with him?

Footsteps passed the alleyway. Then the same footsteps came back. Riddik opened his eyes. "Well, that was harder than it should have been."

Shit. Lars was standing over him, her face bloody from where he'd head-butted her and broken her nose. She shouldn't even have been there. He'd been sure he'd lost her. ::Cat!:: he sent, hoping Twenty-Eight hadn't gotten too far-- but knowing he had, given how uncomfortably tight the geas was-- and launched himself up, ready to bolt down the other side of the alley.

Except the other side of the alley was full of drak, who blocked the path with a doubled wing-span. Shit, again. And none of the buildings around here, much less this particular one, were rough enough to climb or far enough apart to fly through. Fucking space stations.

With no other choice left, Riddik lunged at Lars, but this time she was ready for him and swung a mighty punch that sent him flying back, sheer weight and flying momentum be damned, to crack his head on the cement wall. Dazed, he couldn't do more than twitch feebly when the massive woman grabbed his arm, heaved almost effortlessly, and slung him over her shoulder.

"Never had such a hard time tracking anybody," she commented, whether to him or her drak, as she approached the big, black beast. "Was like the magic just didn't want to find you. Had to settle on tracking that construct of yours."

Riddik just grunted at her and tried to kick, aiming vaguely for her knee and hoping to make it buckle. She retaliated by punching him again, which was more of a problem than usual, because the woman was far stronger than she looked-- and that was saying something, since she looked about as strong as he did. This time she got him in the solar plexus, and it was all he could to do breathe. Especially since now his head was spinning, his chest felt constricted by her big shoulder in the middle of it, and the geas-binding was still prickling along his nerves painfully. Twenty-Eight was coming, but not fast enough.

By the time Lars was hefting him up onto the drak's back, he had enough breath back to start fighting again. Riddik had gotten out of worse situations than this before-- it was just one damn woman, for god's sake! he'd fought off dozens, before!-- and he was determined to make this just one more. He wasn't giving up his freedom again for anyone, not again, not already. He clawed, kicked, and hit, blinded by the bright lights of the open corridor but still perfectly capable of feeling where she was, but Lars was so much bigger and stronger that she all but smothered him, wrapping one beefy arm around his chest and pinning his arms to his sides.

And then the drak took off, leaning back and throwing Riddik into Lars's chest, then launching upwards with a bone-rattling leap, and he suddenly knew what was about to happen. Twenty-Eight had almost reached them-- he could feel the lessening of pain that signaled his approach-- but if Riddik couldn't get off the beast now, it would be too late. He elbowed and kicked and wriggled for all he was worth, but then the spaceport disappeared, replaced by an icy chill. It was only a heartbeat until the chill vanished, rendering them back in the world again, but Riddik couldn't even tell where they'd reappeared. All he could focus on was the sudden, debilitating pain that blocked everything else out, even the meaning in the surprised exclamation behind him as he doubled over in a vain attempt at lessening it, panting and squeezing his eyes shut, quite suddenly not resisting in the slightest.

Fight it, he told himself. Fight it, dammit. You're a sitting duck like this.

Except he couldn't, not consciously, not magical pain. Physical pain he could fight, ignore for the most part, but magical pain-- pain that wasn't localized and wasn't catagorizable and wasn't even a type of pain-- refused to be blocked out or shunted aside. He could hardly concentrate enough to keep from falling right off the drak's back when he landed, heavily with what was probably more surprise. Lars brought him down, half-carrying him and half dragging him-- that hurt even more-- and let him drop to the ground and curl in on himself when they were clear of the drak. She tried shaking him, but that hurt, too; his weak swipe at her missed, because he couldn't open his eyes to see where she was.

Her words finally penetrated. "What's wrong?" she was asking over and over. "What happened?"

"Geas," he grunted out through clenched teeth. He wrestled to get another word out past the pain, some kind of explanation. No, explanation would take too long, wasn't important. Solution. "Cat. Get. The cat."

He had no idea whether she understood him. The only thing she said made no sense to him. "Kachojich."

"On it," someone-- the drak?-- responded.

It felt like an eternity before anything changed. Lars crouched next to him but mercifully didn't touch him again; he could hear other people moving around, speaking, but he hardly cared. The geas had never, never been stretched like this-- he and Twenty-Eight were worlds, galaxies, even universes apart; he had no idea where he'd been taken, but he knew the abilities of draks and other dragons for crossing distances. And not even that kind of stress was enough to break it. Damn those Kinuan mages to the worst hell there was!

Then, between one breath and the next, the pain was gone. Riddik went limp on the ground, trying to catch his breath, as only the memory of agony lingered in his nerves. He'd be sore tomorrow, he expected, but for now there was nothing but relief. Lars crouched next to him still, and he could hear the big feet of the drak hitting the ground not far off. Either the drak had somehow broken the binding-- which he doubted; draks weren't known for their magic, and besides, it didn't feel gone-- or he'd gone back for Twenty-Eight. The sound of panting, growling cat a moment later proved the latter. At least he could take satisfaction in the fact that it hurt Twenty-Eight as much as it did him, a punishment for letting his charge get too far away.

Riddik sat up, rubbing his head and squinting around. He found his goggles dangling from Lars's grasp. He snatched them back irritably and pulled them back on, which doused the lights into something bearable. "So where the hell are we?" he asked, a little roughly around the soreness in his throat that had been holding in a scream. At least it hadn't gotten out. That would have been... embarrassing.

"The Twisted Fate," Lars answered, standing up. "You've been Chosen."

Riddik stood up, too. "Well, ain't that great," he muttered. Being "chosen" for anything was usually a bad sign, whatever it was. He doubted this would be any better than usual.

Twenty-Eight, coming up shakily beside him, added his own growled, "Lovely."

Lars, damn her, just grinned smugly at them both.