Riddik's Story: Escape

"You've been busy, lately," Twenty-Eight said, coming up behind Riddik in the single gym the Twisted Fate had to offer. He'd been relatively easy to find today, and the place was brightly lit, so there were no grues about. Not even one of the little ones. The theurge hatching was in a week, and Twenty-Eight was looking forward to escape and return to their old ship and companions-- even annoying little Jay'tiel would be welcome, at this point.

Riddik, though, he didn't know about. The not-construct had found himself a little project on-board, and Twenty-Eight wasn't encouraged by the amount of attention he was pouring into said project. He knew Riddik as well as he supposed anyone could know Riddik, and he recognized the signs of interest in the otherwise detached and scheming not-construct. And it wasn't the geas-stretching, either; either he had abandoned that, or they were now free to move and think and be free of pain for as far as Riddik cared to go. He hadn't felt it do more than twinge uncomfortably in a week.

No, this project had a name, and the name was Gara.

"Hello, cat," Riddik grunted, ignoring the statement or perhaps making an ironic comment to Twenty-Eight's lack of a greeting, or both, as he pulled an impressive amount of weight on the exercise machine. At least it had been in Kinauan, the language Twenty-Eight preferred and the language he'd been addressed in. No one else on this space ship spoke it. Twenty-Eight watched impassively for a moment, sitting down and curling his tails around his feet, before speaking again.

"So what do you intend to do?" he asked.

"About what?" was Riddik's bland reply.

"You know exactly what I mean," Twenty-Eight said, not believing the feigned innocence for a moment. When Riddik didn't elaborate, himself, closed-mouthed barbarian that he was, Twenty-Eight continued. "The boy. The boy who looks like a colored version of you. Who you are constantly rescuing from trouble."

Twenty-Eight had only seen the boy Gara once, following Riddik down the hall to Riddik's room, Gara looking half-dead and Riddik still with a little blood on his face and hands. If he didn't know better, he'd have guessed there had been more than sleeping going on. It wouldn't have been the first time Twenty-Eight had been privy to such things, via his empathy or his job back on Dev'anon Kinau. But he hadn't sensed anything of the sort-- he actually listened in-- and, well, he did know what attracted Riddik, and it wasn't little boys. He couldn't help that, either, forced to spend so much time in his company.

"It keeps me occupied," Riddik replied, still steadily pulling on the weights. "Ship's dead boring."

"Mmhmm," Twenty-Eight agreed, eyes narrowed. "And when we leave?"

Ignoring the obvious meaning, Riddik answered, "Depends on if you bond or not, and how malicious the thing is if you do. Might get the little brat to take us back to the ship, wherever it is now. If not, booked us passage on another Chosen's ship, that's docked at the hangar. Labor exchange for transportation."

Twenty-Eight's ears flattened with distaste, and Riddik chuckled at him, the bulk of his expression hidden by those cursed goggles of his. "Guard duty, cat. And piloting. Nothin' we can't handle." At the look on Twenty-Eight's face, he corrected with immensely exaggerated patience, "Nothin' I can't handle. The rest of her crew died after they docked, so she needs the help. Apparently the other Chosen 'round here can be dangerous."

Something in the not-construct's tone suggested Twenty-Eight not ask further, lest he learn something about the deaths of those crew members. Like, for example, that Riddik and his eating-machines had been behind them. He decided not to question it; if it if got them off this prison-ship, that was enough for him. He didn't care what happened to someone he'd never met-- most of the time he didn't even care, once he'd met them.

"And the boy?" Twenty-Eight asked, instead, giving Riddik a narrow, expectant look.

"What boy?" Riddik asked, back, the picture of muscular, sweaty innocence.

"The one you have been tracking and rescuing for the past, say, two weeks?" Twenty-Eight reminded him, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

"Oh, that boy." Riddik shrugged, easing the handles he'd been hauling on back into their holsters and brushing off his hands. "What about him?"

"Should I expect any last-minute attempts at bringing him along?" Twenty-Eight, remembering the equal mess with Jay'tiel, could well imagine this fiasco. This time, it would be even worse. He might not be as observant as Riddik, but he still recognized a Rune-brand when he saw one. That boy belonged to this ship, and there would be trouble if they concerned themselves too much with him. Twenty-Eight could see that even a mile away.

Riddik smiled at him. "Why would you think that?"

"Perhaps because you've all but adopted the brat?"

"Well, that's a funny word to use," Riddik mused, radiating amusement as he got up and moved to another machine. "Adopted. After all, he doesn't even like me."

"Since when is that a prerequisite to being meddled with by you?" Twenty-Eight snorted, tails twitching. He really was having trouble with his emotions, lately. It was irritating, but at the moment, not something he was going to complain about. "That boy is trouble, Riddik. And I don't think he's trouble you want to deal with on top of everything else we have to worry about." Grues, goddesses, getting back, and quite possibly tracking down Thirty-Two and Jay-tiel-- not to mention getting themselves separated, and getting him someplace safe. Twenty-Eight had no intention of spending his entire life on space ships.

"You worry too much," was all Riddik would say. "Run along, now. I've got work to do."

Twenty-Eight knew Riddik well enough to recognize the shut down and dismissal, and knowing he'd get no more out of him, he went. But the non-answers didn't bode well for a lack of trouble on the day of the hatching, not at all.