Chapter Thirty-three: Jarvis - Charybdis

The Messina slid quietly into orbit above the planet Troubadour.

Lieutenant Jarvis gazed down at the world through the bridge viewscreen, watching as its rotation seemed to slow, until it finally stilled completely.

"We are locked in geostationary orbit above New Paris, Sir," the pilot informed him.

"Very good. Inform the troops that they have thirteen hours to make their final preparations for planetary infiltration. We descend an hour before dawn, local time."

Thirteen hours, he thought with something almost like glee. Thirteen hours until the hunt begins in earnest.

There was no point in ordering his troops to sleep. None of them would be able to. He'd have Dr. Markowski distribute stim pills to them shortly before they debarked. Those would keep them alert and steady until they calmed into the rhythm of the hunt enough to sleep again.

They'd be much more relaxed if they thought they were allowed to kill their quarry. The fact that they couldn't -- but that he would very likely try to kill them and was so much better at killing anyway -- was what had their nerves taut and screaming. Every one of his soldiers had logged unprecedented amounts of time in the combat training simulators and the ship's dojo. Riddick's shadow loomed over everyone.

"Sir." A voice at his side broke into his reverie. He turned to look at the petite Corporal who had appeared at his elbow as if by magic.

"Yes, Corporal?"

"Sir, someone is attempting to break into the Charybdis mainframe."

"Someone?"

"A hacker, Sir."

The world seemed to still for him. Two years since the last time Riddick had tried... "Show me."

They moved quickly to the bridge terminal and the Corporal called up the relevant data with brisk efficiency. "It started two minutes ago. Whoever it is, they attempted to log on as Dr. Aspen."

Dr. Aspen? That was a new one. Riddick had always tried to go in using Jarvis's clearance.

"Has the system begun running the false network?" He asked, leaning in to look.

"Yes. The trap is active. It's attempting to break into the profile of the originating terminal... Sir, it's just identified the location of the terminal. Our hacker is on Troubadour."

"It's him. It's Riddick." Savage joy filled Jarvis's body as he watched the screen. Riddick had just requested a site map. "Why is it cycling so slowly, Corporal?"

"Sir, most of the computing time is being used in our attempt to gain control of the originating terminal. It's fighting us. He's got some impressive safeguards in place. Every time we query the terminal it claims it's a different merchant vessel."

"That's bizarre. He must have dreamed up that program himself." He chuckled to himself. Riddick always was brilliant with computers. Just not brilliant enough to escape us...

"The location has been narrowed, Sir. He's in New Paris. Local troops have been placed on standby."

"Have them stand down. We're here; we'll take care of it ourselves. Let him think he's gotten in without our knowledge, this time."

"Yes, Sir." The Corporal nodded to the comms officer, who began speaking in hushed tones into his microphone.

"How close are we to pinpointing his location in New Paris?" Once more, Jarvis could feel his blood humming.

"Almost there. He appears to be in the Orleans district, possibly near the spaceport-- Sir, his signal just disconnected. He was trying to access his files, but he abruptly broke contact."

"Try to lock back onto his terminal."

"It's either offline or he's changed its electronic profile."

"Fuck! How close were we?"

"We know his general area. He's within a two-mile radius of the Orleans spaceport in the southern end of New Paris."

"Damn it, why did he stop?" They'd had an excellent set of false records for him to peruse, this time. They could have been right on top of him before he finished reading them...

"Unknown, Sir. Perhaps his terminal informed him that we were attempting to profile it. Maybe he became suspicious about the slowness of the link. I honestly don't know."

"Inform New Paris space traffic control that no ship is to leave the planet without our express clearance." Jarvis slammed his fist down on the top of the console. So fucking close and that crazy motherfucker was slipping away again--

"Sir, New Paris Control just contacted us," the comms officer shouted. "A ship just blasted off from the Orleans spaceport without clearance!"

Now the adrenaline surge through Jarvis's body was unbridled. "What ship?"

"They say it's a merchant vessel called the Singing Swan. It has a two-man crew--"

"The Singing Swan is one of the profiles Riddick's terminal gave when our mainframe queried it, sir," the Corporal broke in.

He owns a ship! Everything fell into place, making perfect sense suddenly. His unpredictable movements and abrupt disappearances over the last few years... Where did the bastard get the funds for a goddamned ship?

"Scramble our fighters immediately. I want them ready to intercept the Swan when it reaches us. What's its ETA?"

"Three minutes."

"Get them moving!" Jarvis ran forward to the viewscreen, staring down at the planet. Willing Riddick's vessel to appear, to come into view. Where are you, you psychotic son of a bitch?

"Inform the Tribunal Command Board that we are preparing to engage Richard B. Riddick, Ensign," he snapped, glancing at the comms officer.

He'll shoot them all down, he suddenly realized. Every one of the pilots had been instructed to shoot only to disable Riddick's vessel. That fucking live capture clause... Riddick would be the only one out there shooting to kill.

I'm going to get cashiered if I survive this, he thought suddenly. He turned and began to stalk off of the bridge. "Have my fighter readied!"

"Yes, Sir!" the Corporal called after him as he stepped into the lift.

The elevator plummeted almost as fast as his stomach had.

What the fuck do you think you're doing? he asked himself as he dropped toward the flight deck. You think you really have a chance in Hell of taking on a Phase II Charybdis heads-up? Let alone The Phase II Charybdis? He'll fry you in a heartbeat.

He rested his head against the wall of the lift, listening to his own hammering pulse.

I have to go, he answered himself. I'm the only one who'll be out there shooting to kill except him.

The elevator door opened and he hurried onto the flight deck.

If he doesn't kill you, General Baldwin will.

He wished that fucking little voice would just shut up! Riddick had to die. This whole mess had to end, and fast. If the Project was going to move on -- and frankly, he didn't care if it was scrubbed at this point, it had cost far too many lives for his tastes -- Riddick had to be destroyed.

Riddick had to die for all of the lives he'd taken, and the ones he'd annihilated through his actions. For Ruth. For Jarvis's cadets. For Jack.

Above all, he had to die for what he'd done to Jack.

Pulling on his helmet, he climbed into his fighter and began running the switches. "Lieutenant Jarvis. Control, status of Riddick?"

"First squad has engaged the Swan, Sir," Control replied. It was the petite Corporal. She appeared to have taken control of the Bridge in his absence. She was going to go places, he reflected.

"And?"

"He's disabled two fighters and... Sir, he just destroyed a third."

"Have the second squad join the skirmish immediately. Has Riddick taken any damage?"

"No, Sir."

FUCK!

"Control, I'm ready to launch. Am I green?"

"Yes, Sir, you are cleared to launch."

He hit the throttle and burst into the night. The battle was above him and to his left, a silent, furious ballet. Riddick's ship, although small, was ten times as large as any of the fighter craft engaging it, making the grace and precision with which out outmaneuvered the smaller vessels stunning to behold.

The Charybdis himself was loose among his kids. How many of them would die before he was contained or destroyed? He moved to intercept the battle, listening to the comm chatter of the other pilots. No words from Riddick. Not a sound.

"Richard B. Riddick," the comm ensign was repeating over one of the non-combat frequencies. "You are under arrest. Power down your vessel and prepare to be brought on board the Messina. You will not be harmed if you surrender. Richard B. Riddick..."

He turned off that channel. Riddick probably already had that one switched off, himself.

Brilliant light flared as he approached the swirling knot of ships. Another of his fighters had exploded. Suddenly the fighters on the port side of the skirmish abruptly scattered like a flock of startled pigeons. Riddick's ship burst through the opening created, leaving the fleet behind for a moment. Jarvis banked his own fighter in pursuit.

He targeted one of Riddick's engines as he approached and snapped off a shot. He almost made the shot; Riddick's craft banked sharply at the last possible second and the plasma bolt glanced off of the hull. A dead-on hit would have blown the engine to pieces.

The other fighters were catching up with him now. He fell into the formation as they streaked in pursuit of the Singing Swan. For a moment he let himself watch in awe as Riddick manipulated his vessel, twisting it through an impossible maneuver to avoid the shots of his opponents while simultaneously snapping off dead-accurate blasts of his own. The fighter directly off Jarvis's port wing suddenly fragmented into fiery nothingness.

Reflexes ten times faster than an ordinary human, Jarvis thought to himself. An IQ of 240 on the Adjusted Scale. Pure predatory instincts and a deep love of the kill. And even when he's at his sanest, he loves the taste of blood. What in God's name were they thinking?

It wasn't actually his doing, he consoled himself. They'd already started Phase II when he was placed in charge of Damage Control. If he'd gotten there sooner, he might have been able to have Riddick terminated long ago, before the mess ever began... But he wasn't brought in until it was too late. For all of them.

Another of the fighters exploded. Riddick's craft was heading straight toward the tattered remnants of the armada, guns blazing.

It ends now, he thought. He aimed his fighter directly at Riddick's cockpit and hit the throttle.

As the fighters around him scattered, he and Riddick bore down on each other in a deadly game of chicken that was no game at all.

Takin' you with me, boy, he thought as he sped toward the collision. This time you're going to die. For Jack. For what you did to Jack.

He braced for impact, knowing that he'd never survive.