Title: Jack B. Badd Part One: A Beginning is a Very Delicate Time
Author: Daryn
Fandom: Pitch Black
Pairing: Jack/Riddick (eventually)
Rating: PGish
Email: dmunster@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: This is part one in the saga of Jack
Web Page: http://ddraven.tripod.com/pitchblack/
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, but damn I wish I did.
Warnings: Jack is a boy. Read 'Disclaimers' page for more info
Notes: Jack's POV. This is the story of Jack's life with emphasis on his experiences on the planet in Pitch Black. There is no sex, yet. Eventually Jack and Riddick will get groovy though.
Summary: Years later Jack narrates the story of the first thirteen years of his life, leading up to his departure on the Hunter Gratzner.
Beta Credit: Colin and Cait. *hugs*
I'm not really sure what fate had against me. Or has had against me anyway. Hindsight is a wonderful privilege and I'm really grateful for it.
Still, memories distort everything so I can't promise that what I recall here is strictly "what happened" but it is certainly, for all intents and purposes, what happened to me and as I remember it. Before I can relive the events that happened on that... Planet... for you, I have to give you an idea of who I was when it happened.
So hi there, my name is Jack. It always has been. They changed it at the "kids off the streets" place where I was for a while but I ignored that. It was just paperwork anyway. My mother named me Jack.
Or, at any rate, the lady who took care of me until I was about five years old and they picked me up -- I called her Mother. The agency people insisted that my parents were dead. The one lady with the cold hands and long red nails told me to forget about Mother.
I just nodded and kept quiet. Mother had taught me that - just nod and pretend to agree but go ahead and do what you need to. I wasn't about to forget Mother.
They called me Jack until I was at the clinic. I washed up and changed into the gown they handed me and it wasn't until the doctor stepped out of the room and started whispering loudly with the nurse that I began to worry that something was wrong.
I thought I might have the plague. Mother had told me that people with the plague were burned and fed to rich people. Or something like that. I don't really remember too well aside from being frightened of having the plague and being burned by the doctor and the nurse.
I don't recall exactly how they approached the subject of gender with my scrawny, five year old self, but I figure it went something like:
"Honey, you know you're a girl?"
"My mother said Jack's a boy name."
"Yes but you're a girl."
And I would nod "Ok."
"So can we call you Jackie or Jacqueline?"
"No."
"But you're a girl. Don't you want to wear a dress?"
And I would shrug "Ok."
I just wanted clothes. Later I retracted my indifference and refused to wear dresses. It wasn't only because the other kids gave me hell. I just felt naked in them.
I don't remember everything about my life before the kids center. Before all the events on the Planet I had just an average memory I suppose but I recall every detail of those days or however long we were there. Maybe that drove out or confused my memories of early childhood.
I remember living in a very small space, just a room really, with Mother. I remember being cold and hungry. But those memories are mixed with memories of being warm and happy as well. I remember that we would busk on street corners -- Mother would chime bells or something and I would dance and sing nonsense at the top of my voice so that people would throw money at us and we could eat.
I sometimes wonder what happened to Mother - if she put me out for the kid collectors or if she wonders what happened to me. Maybe someday I'll go back and find out. Of course I never really will, but... you know.
Anyway, I was picked up and I spent three months or so at the kid center. The girls there shirked me or made rude comments to me. The boys teased me but preferred to hit me and trip me. Sometimes I cried at night but I never let anyone see me.
Eventually I was sent uptown. I lived in the nice part of the colony with this man and woman who took in a lot of street kids. I liked them I guess. The lady never made me wear dresses or anything. School was Ok cuz one of the older boys in our house looked after me. His name was Peter and he would beat the shit out of any kid who gave me a hard time.
Peter was the first friend I ever had. We played electronic games, card games, soldiers, we made forts, we wrestled. He called me his little bro-sister and was the only one in the house who never ever called me Jackie -- always Jack. I think the kid center people registered me under 'Jacqueline' but I never really paid attention. I knew that I was Jack and I had Peter so I was happy.
Peter and I also watched just TONS of vids. Our favorites were the spy thrillers and action movies. Lots of killing and explosions. Of course these days I have a completely different... appreciation (not sure that's quite the word I'm looking for...) for those kinds of vids.
It wasn't all childish innocence though. Of course there came the inevitable day when all my nagging thoughts just came out. I knew I was different from other boys.
I said to Peter that I wanted to know why they never told other boys that they were girls and changed their names. Peter looked thoughtful for a minute. I don't remember his exact words of course but I think he said something like "Well Jack, there was prolly an accident or something and they feel bad so they want you to be a girl."
I didn't know what he meant and I suppose that's how we ended up in an 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' situation.
I was fascinated. Even more so when Peter showed me how he jerked off. Then he took a look and pointed out that I could probably do it too, just a little different. It was so good to find out that even though I was different, I could still apparently do whatever other boys could do. Peter and I only ever jerked off together, nothing more than that -- a two person circle jerk or something I guess.
Then there was the day that I asked Peter what it meant if I had a crush on a boy. He said that it meant I would probably go to hell. Howver, since we didn't believe in hell we figured that I would be Ok. But I got thinking about what it would mean to really be the 'fag' that I was always accused of being and thought that maybe I should take a shot at being a girl.
I told the lady -- my caremother -- about my decision and she seemed really happy. She told the man (my carefather) "I told you she'd come around on her own". So we went shopping and I got skirts (I still didn't like dresses), girl tops, hair accessories, jewelry -- the whole works.
My hair was down to my shoulders - the longest it's ever been - one week before my eleventh birthday when I set out for an all-girls boarding school.
On the docks I said goodbye to Peter. He said I looked like a drag queen. He was just talking out of his ass because he didn't want to cry I know, but I felt like a drag queen too. I hugged him close, we didn't really understand then but I know that we both knew that even if we met again we would never have what we had before. It was all lost in the haze of childhood.
I was heading into the worst three years of my life. I got very bitter at that girls school -- I blamed Mother and Peter for making me such a mess. I lashed out at them in my mind in a way that I could never lash out at my peers or teachers. I couldn't fit in as a girl and I wasn't accepted as a boy.
There was a peculiar sexual-social hierarchy at the school. I saw or, heard mostly, more than one girl getting raped by one of the bigger girls. Of course that was only one side of it. There were some girls who were the kind of close friends that Peter and I had been. Some were lovers and they were happy -- I was envious. I was never attacked but I could never hope for that kind of happiness.
Why did I never leave the school? Because I couldn't. I couldn't go back to my careparents and Peter. Peter had probably gone off to a school himself.
I was a ward of 'the state' though the archaic term basically meant that I was a statistic that the Congress had to take of and at the moment I was safely stowed in a school and as far as they were concerned I would stay there until I graduated.
I remember the day that the councilor and principal called me into the office and asked me why I cut my hair so short and preferred to wear my gym clothes instead of the dress and skirt uniforms. They told me that I'd get to go out with boys soon and so i didn't need to try to be a boy myself. I suppose that what it really meant was that they thought I was a dyke and they were telling me that the other girls would have "real" boys soon so I had better get used to the way things were.
I decided that it wouldn't be a good idea to explain to them that I was really just a boy who happened to be a girl at the moment because being a fag hadn't been working terribly well and all the adults had seemed to think I was a girl anyway.
I started to daydream about leaving the school, dressing like a boy for real (not the androgynous femme look I had going on as a child), being called 'he' and hanging out with the other boys. Of course these flights of fancy also included Peter being there too and introducing me to the perfect man who would love me and all that -- you've heard it all before I'm sure. I'm not that unique.
I also thought about finding other boys like me, who were told that they were girls. I made a few sly comments sometimes at school but no one ever seemed to pick up on it and I gave up on trying to find another boy like me there after a while.
In my imaginings I'd go back and find Mother. She and Peter and I and my love would all live happily ever after. And Mother would explain why I was a boy and the whole world would make sense in a way that it never had for me before.
But my waking world was not so kind. I was twelve years, six months, and three days old when I had my first period. I knew all about periods from the other girls but I was shocked and incredulous that such a thing could happen to me.
Of course the realization that I "really" was a girl came as a.... something like a shock and a relief only sharper and more poignant than either. I was relieved to find that there had not been an accident which had removed my penis -- my penis was called a clitoris and I had all the girl parts and none of the boy ones. I was at peace with the final knowledge of my own body.
But I also knew somehow that I really was a boy.
How could I reconcile that knowledge with this physical reality? I wasn't sure then and I don't know if I'm sure even now. There is no final answer, E does not equal MC squared, money is not the root of all evil. Life is just an endless chore of self discovery and decision making.
I wondered what Peter would say if I asked him about this and decided that although I was not the boy that I thought I was, I was a kind of boy that I had never really dreamed possible. I was a girl-boy and I assured myself that someday I would find someone who could love that.
Of course I cried quite a few times and worried about all these things a great deal but in the end I decided to worry about getting the hell out of that school instead. All those nagging doubts remained on the back burner but then, they always do I suppose. At least that's what the vids would have us believe.
At the girls school, when you turned thirteen you could start going on weekly outings to the market and monthly dances with the boys from the all boys school. From going to the markets I realized that if I got enough money I could get the hell out on a transport.
We got a few creds each for every outing. I never spent mine, I saved them all, and I began to steal from the other girls. Some of their parents sent them money and I could grab that or just take little things from their stashes and sell them at the market.
I enjoyed the monthly dances. I talked with small groups of boys, the quiet ones who looked as longingly at the big, handsome boys as I did. We'd shoot the shit and I'd tell them that they should dance with me cuz I was really a boy. Those were fun times. I liked dancing with them and just talking and listening to them talk. Of course there were a fair number of dirty looks and curses from the other boys. Many accusations of 'dyke' and other words that I'm glad I can't remember.
As a result of these unwanted attentions I got to be friends with some of the girls - some of those happy couples I mentioned before. These new friends, girls and boys, made my last few months there more bearable in many ways but really just made me that much more anxious to get out and live a life outside of those walls.
I wasn't thinking clearly of course. I had no way of really knowing anything about the possibilities life held for me, only what I'd dreamed up from the vids and what other people talked about. I just saw myself as this poor thing that was bottled up, a prisoner who was destined to always follow someone else's plan for my life. Forever trapped. I don't have any real idea of what would have happened to me if I had stayed there.
Twice on our market trips I had managed to get into a net bar and snoop around a bit. We had some net access in school but it was monitored and very restricted.
I don't even remember exactly how long it took me to save up enough. Maybe eight months, maybe a whole year. But finally I had enough. At the net bar I used my creds to make a reservation on a transport that left at about the time I figured I would be able to make it to the docks during the next market trip. I was walking on tip toes the whole next week -- watching every move I made. I was so nervous.
I refused to let myself think of this as anything but my break out to complete freedom.
The night finally came. I slipped away from the group, my stomach a bundle of nerves. I faded through the crowd and then ran like hell for the docks. I slowed down as I neared my gate. My heart was racing so fast I thought I was going to implode. I had managed to smuggle my long coat into my bag and by wearing this I hoped to avoid meeting any possible description later of an escaping school girl (though of course I was still in my skirt uniform).
Everything from that moment to my arrival on the Solaris station seemed to last ten hours for every nanosecond of real time. As I stepped off the transport I was certain that a huge crowd of armed guards would be waiting for me. But no one was. I was free.
My next move was to head to the department complex and grab some boy clothes -- layers, I thought, go for layers. I got a sham thermal undershirt to go under a striped t-shirt and vest. I got pants that were baggy enough to hide my hips but not so big that they fell off. I topped it all off with one of the caps that I had noticed were the latest rage with teenage boys in the market and at the boys school. I never had seemed to develop much chest but I stole a small compression undershirt just for good measure.
I was all dressed up with no place to go. Literally. But I felt good.
I swaggered over to the food bins, then stopped. I looked at the signs with the regulations for cryo. No eating for twenty hours before going into cryo. I hadn't eaten for about ten hours I figured. So even though my stomach was rumbling I turned tail and marched over the to the public net bar.
I made reservations for the next commercial transport. I don't even remember what the destination was, I just remember that I put my destination down as the very last, furthest stop. I figured I'd sort it all out when I got there. It was important just to get away and out of dodge.
I filled in my reservation on the Hunter Gratzner so that it would look like it was made for me by my parents.
I registered myself as Jack B. Badd, a little in-joke that Peter and I had shared once. I had a story ready, I remember. If anyone asked me, I was off to visit my aunt and my parents had arranged it all so I didn't know anything about anything.
After making the reservation I had ten hours to kill. I knew that I couldn't sleep anywhere and expect to remain alive or in possession of my virtue and/or belongings. I ditched my old clothes somewhere -- I think I dumped them in a mail drop.
I watched the news vids for a while and found out that there was no danger of being followed. Apparently fate had smiled on me and caused a crime spree to break out on the station where my school was and they probably figured I was another statistic. Killed or whatever. I didn't care.
I sat by the vid screens and zoned out. I remember that I thought about Peter. If I had known how to contact him I would have done so right then in case he might have worried about me. I wondered if he or Mother thought about me.
After a while I got restless. It's not easy killing ten hours in a jump station. Solaris has more interesting stations than most I hear. I saw a vid on it. They had the net bar, the vid screens, various adult entertainments, and who knows what else. I walked the length and width of the station, sticking mostly to the moving walkways. I liked those a lot.
Then I went back to where my ship was supposed to leave from.
I sat down and settled in for some people watching. Sometimes it can just be so relaxing to sit idly by while the world washes up around you. Like the water on the ocean vids my care-mom used to watch sometimes. She came from an ocean planet I think.
I got some leery looks from people. I winked at some of the guys who stared at me. I knew what I was to them -- a lean little pretty boy all alone in a big station. I also knew they couldn't come near me because I had positioned myself next to one of the security boxes. I was a tease sitting there and I was enjoying every minute of it.
It occurred to me that I could leave my post and actually seek out some sex, but when I started to think of all the unpredictable variables involved I couldn't see myself actually doing it.
The thought of the danger inherent in such an action really turned me on but I was just a coward really. Someday, I told myself, you'll have some fun soon, I promise.
I realize that it must seem that gender and sex were the only things I was thinking about throughout my whole life and I won't try to protest. What else was important, after all? Survival was gender and love was sex..
I could say that those ten hours passed by quickly but honestly they did anything but. They crawled by like... well, like something really really slow. Finally it was time to prep for cryo. I lined up to get on board. I was near the front since I was there so early.
I looked around at my fellow passengers, those that I could see anyway. There was a long line behind me, about thirty or forty people I think it turned out to be but I didn't learn that until later.
I noted with relief that I was far from being the most conspicuous of the passengers -- no one was likely to notice me when they had a high security prisoner all mummied up for transfer to the ship.
There was a cop fussing over him and he kept yelling at the loaders and telling them to be careful until the captain quietly whispered something to him. I bet the captain pointed out how it wasn't smart to spook the other people who had to travel with the prisoner.
Right behind me in line were some holy trekkers. I remembered that New Mecca was one of the stops on that route. I half wished that I had chosen that as my destination. I don't know what I would have done in New Mecca but I decided then and there that I wanted to visit as many places as I could before I settled down for good.
I didn't notice the crew or anyone else too much besides that, I was too busy thinking about where I was going to go and how much better my life was going to be now that I was away from that school.
I was done with my old life and headed toward new horizons.
I had no idea what was going to happen. No premonitions, no suspicions, no doubts.
I believe that my last thought before I fell into cryo was about the prisoner. I hoped briefly that he'd be able to escape someday too.