Read Online The Chronicles of Riddick by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alan Dean Foster
Ads: Link
so. Perhaps she had felt similarly. Or maybe she had another reason for not intervening further. The Elementals were a strange spin-off of humanity. It was always hard to tell what one was thinking.
There was nothing more he could do. He knew Riddick well enough to know that even had they been able to restrain him, they would not have been able to compel him to do anything he himself did not want to do. Easier to move a mountain. That was only a matter of physics.
There was no equation to explain Riddick.
I t was a beautiful, clear night. Clear as noontime to Riddick, who shunned the daylight. A quick check behind showed that no one was following him. Imam knew better, he assumed. Not that the delegate or his clerical friends could have stayed on Riddick’s track for more than a few meters had they tried to follow him. The big man moved too fast, too silently. He could not disappear in a blur like an Elemental—but it would seem to others that he could come close.
He drew the ship locator without a thought for its original owner. Yesterday’s news. It sprang to life when he opened it. Standing in the shadows, he waited for the instrument to lock in and provide him with a return route. This took only seconds. Striding out in the indicated direction, he passed a few citizens engaged in late-night business, or just out for a stroll.
He had covered some distance when he noticed figures on a rooftop. Clearly agitated, they were pointing skyward and jabbering excitedly among themselves. None so much as glanced in his direction.
Turning, he moved out from the darkness until he had a clean line of sight between buildings. The brightness of the comet caused him to squint slightly. It was clear what had unsettled the people on the roof. A
second
head was splitting away from the cometary nucleus. Riddick was able to see certain things those with normal eyesight couldn’t. Was able to discern details. His expression did not change— but his direction did.
Near the outermost atmosphere of Helion Prime, the secondary head of the comet began to fracture. These multiple fragments resolved into conquest icons, each as massive and imposing as the next. Ice formed of frozen gases began to crack and flake away from what had formed the head of the “comet.” Trailing the flotilla of camouflaged icons were shapes that were small only in comparison to the gigantic structures that had preceded them. Changing course and spreading out, they began to fall toward the planet below. As Necromonger warships, their appearance had been designed with intimidation as much as functionality in mind.
Riddick had been right. Recovering from his temporary paralysis, the young soldier he had spared had reported in. Now other soldiers were carting their dead colleagues out of Imam’s house. An officer stood waiting to question the owner and his family. Delegate or not, the senior soldier thought grimly, if some kind of treasonous complicity could be proved, political connections would not save—
The screaming of launching weapons snapped his train of thought. Moving out onto the veranda, he stood with his head back, mouth agape, staring. The family he was supposed to be questioning stood not far away, forgotten. Noticing this, Imam quietly shepherded his small flock toward the stairs. No one stopped them as they descended, passing soldiers both dead and living. The latter were now moving about with greater urgency.
Once back out on the street, the family turned to gaze skyward. The night sky was alive with moving lights that were brighter than stars. High-velocity missiles left streaks of fire in their wake as they soared upward, while pulse weapons blitzed the bowl of heaven with multiple blasts. Their targets were other lights, descending. They illuminated the innocence of Ziza’s face as she stared up at them.
“So pretty . . . ,” she whispered, seeing but not understanding.
Interior illumination had sprung to life in the buildings that
There was nothing more he could do. He knew Riddick well enough to know that even had they been able to restrain him, they would not have been able to compel him to do anything he himself did not want to do. Easier to move a mountain. That was only a matter of physics.
There was no equation to explain Riddick.
I t was a beautiful, clear night. Clear as noontime to Riddick, who shunned the daylight. A quick check behind showed that no one was following him. Imam knew better, he assumed. Not that the delegate or his clerical friends could have stayed on Riddick’s track for more than a few meters had they tried to follow him. The big man moved too fast, too silently. He could not disappear in a blur like an Elemental—but it would seem to others that he could come close.
He drew the ship locator without a thought for its original owner. Yesterday’s news. It sprang to life when he opened it. Standing in the shadows, he waited for the instrument to lock in and provide him with a return route. This took only seconds. Striding out in the indicated direction, he passed a few citizens engaged in late-night business, or just out for a stroll.
He had covered some distance when he noticed figures on a rooftop. Clearly agitated, they were pointing skyward and jabbering excitedly among themselves. None so much as glanced in his direction.
Turning, he moved out from the darkness until he had a clean line of sight between buildings. The brightness of the comet caused him to squint slightly. It was clear what had unsettled the people on the roof. A
second
head was splitting away from the cometary nucleus. Riddick was able to see certain things those with normal eyesight couldn’t. Was able to discern details. His expression did not change— but his direction did.
Near the outermost atmosphere of Helion Prime, the secondary head of the comet began to fracture. These multiple fragments resolved into conquest icons, each as massive and imposing as the next. Ice formed of frozen gases began to crack and flake away from what had formed the head of the “comet.” Trailing the flotilla of camouflaged icons were shapes that were small only in comparison to the gigantic structures that had preceded them. Changing course and spreading out, they began to fall toward the planet below. As Necromonger warships, their appearance had been designed with intimidation as much as functionality in mind.
Riddick had been right. Recovering from his temporary paralysis, the young soldier he had spared had reported in. Now other soldiers were carting their dead colleagues out of Imam’s house. An officer stood waiting to question the owner and his family. Delegate or not, the senior soldier thought grimly, if some kind of treasonous complicity could be proved, political connections would not save—
The screaming of launching weapons snapped his train of thought. Moving out onto the veranda, he stood with his head back, mouth agape, staring. The family he was supposed to be questioning stood not far away, forgotten. Noticing this, Imam quietly shepherded his small flock toward the stairs. No one stopped them as they descended, passing soldiers both dead and living. The latter were now moving about with greater urgency.
Once back out on the street, the family turned to gaze skyward. The night sky was alive with moving lights that were brighter than stars. High-velocity missiles left streaks of fire in their wake as they soared upward, while pulse weapons blitzed the bowl of heaven with multiple blasts. Their targets were other lights, descending. They illuminated the innocence of Ziza’s face as she stared up at them.
“So pretty . . . ,” she whispered, seeing but not understanding.
Interior illumination had sprung to life in the buildings that
Similar Books
