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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
and ran toward the potential safe haven that was the Necromonger ship.
Within the rapidly intensifying hell that was the runway now exposed to the
full glare of Crematoria's sun, nothing moved except waves of rising heat and
the beginnings of combustion from several of the prone human shapes. But
within the shadows of the abandoned hangar, something did. Advancing
delib-erately out into the searing light, a human shape wound its way through
the scattered bodies. The ex-pensive and technically advanced cloak and hood
of office it wore fended off the lethal effects of the naked sun for a little
while. Long enough, anyway, for the figure to find what it was looking for,
hook the mo-tionless body under both arms, and drag the second man back into
the still barely tolerable shade of the hangar.
With the doors standing open, powerful in-ternal cooling units struggled
desperately to maintain the hangar temperature within habitable human limits.
Letting the body he had scavenged fall limp to the hangar floor, the Purifier
pushed back the hood of his cloak, slightly burning his fingers in the
process. The fabric was remarkably resilient, but if he had been forced to
hike another twenty meters or so out in the sunlight, it, too, would have
started to burn.
Speaking of burns, the exposed flesh of the man he had dragged off the runway
was already showing signs of blistering in places. Only the dark goggles he
wore had prevented his eyes from boiling away.
The all-purpose hygienic spray the Purifier pulled from a pouch concealed
within his raiment and proceeded to apply to these surfaces was normally used
in Necro-monger purification ceremonies to heal damaged faces before their
soul-abandoned bodies were con-signed permanently to oblivion. Now it worked
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its restorative epidermal magic on the man he had pulled out of the lethal
sunlight.
The shock of instant healing combined with lin-gering pain to snap Riddick
back to consciousness. He sat up with a suddenness that would have startled
anyone other than the Purifier. But he was not look-ing at his rescuer, or
thinking about him.
Something had happened out on the runway, in that instant frozen in time when
Riddick had finally run out of strength, resources, and ideas. It had
hap-pened when the Necromonger commander had stood over him, gun in hand,
muzzle aimed at his head. He could not put a name to it, did not know how he
had done whatever it was that he had done. Only that it was as much a part of
him, of his mental and physi-cal makeup, as the fingers on his hands and the
im-plants in his eyes. The experience had defined him in ways he had not
imagined, and now it enabled him to better define himself.
"I'm Furyan," he declared, his tone a mixture of assurance and wonder. Then he
turned slightly to study the scene outside the hangar.
The thermal wind had reached the runway and passed on, tossing dead soldiers
about like broken dolls.
Those who still lay within view were beginning to steam as the water that
composed most of their bodies boiled away. Muscles shrank inside armor and
desiccated skin contracted to shrink-wrap the under-lying bones. The goggles
that had saved his eyes from the ravening sun scanned back and forth across
the runway, nearby rocks, the protective berms that flanked the pavement. All
the bodies he saw wore
Necromonger gear of one kind or another. Of one small, lithe, unarmored woman
there was no sign.
Moments later the sky was filled with a deep thrumming like a snoring whale.
Slowly, majestically, the
Necromonger warship hove into view. Riddick and the Purifier ducked farther
back into the shelter of the
hangar, watching. The frigate circled once overhead. No destructive fire
poured from its power-ful weapons systems. There was no need. Nature her-self
had already covered the hangar area with a different kind of fire.
Accelerating slowly, the great ship angled upward and away in the direction of
the planetary darkside.
Focused as always on the problem at hand, Riddick started for the mercenary
ship that beckoned from its nearby parking slot. While his mind was nearly up
to speed, his body wasn't. Still reeling from the aftereffects of lying
exposed to Crematoria's sun for just a few minutes, he staggered.
Recover
, he told himself.
Balance, surroundings, direction. Then move
.
Immersed in thoughts of the absent Kyra, he had nearly forgotten about the man
who had saved him. As he stood gathering himself, he saw that the Purifier was
busy at a task that made no sense. Word-lessly, efficiently, the man was
removing all the trap-pings of his high office; rings, insignia, helmet, and
more.
Standing there regaining his strength, Riddick could only speculate on the
reasons behind the enig-matic divestiture.
Seeing the big man gazing intently at him, the Purifier spoke while continuing
to shed the elegant accouterments that defined his status. "You're not just a
Furyan, Riddick. You're an alpha Furyan." He nodded in the direction of the
steaming bodies out-side. "In the event anyone doubted it, there lies the
tangible proof, laid out for all to see." Clad now only in simple underlying
clothing devoid of any evidence of his eminence, he came toward the staring
big man.
"I'm supposed to deliver a message to you if Vaako failed to kill you," he
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said, in the manner of one relaying something of solemn importance. "It is a
message from Lord Marshal himself. If you live, you are warned to stay away
from Helion and to stay away from him." Dangling from the fingers of his right
hand as he drew nearer was the spectral dag-ger that had once protruded
trophy-like from the back of the slayer Irgun, and which Riddick had drawn and
used to kill its former owner. Its presence in the
Purifier's hand did not escape the big man's no-tice.
"But Vaako will most likely report you dead. Certainly you appeared to be so.
Unable to explain what happened on the runway, he will neglect to ex-pound
upon it. I do not think the Lord Marshal will press him on the details, so
grateful will he be to hear of your passing. And Vaako will be convincing,
since he will be speaking the truth as he saw it." He was very close now to
the man he had saved, the dagger glinting in the shadow of his side.
Two more steps, and Riddick had him by the throat. It was a restraining grip,
not a killing one. But with a slight tensing of muscles, it could easily be
transformed from one into the other.
Reaching down slowly, making no sudden moves, his eyes on the lenses of those
black goggles, the
Purifier used his free hand to pull his shirt wide and expose his bare chest.
On it was a mark; [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
