Here's Part Two of my trilogy featuring Eileen Bergenhaus. Like Dark Fury, this story picks up very close to the end of the first one. Some terminology related to space vessels in general has been pulled from sources like Star Wars, Star Trek, etc. Much of my version of Riddick's history is guesswork, built on the scarce information given by the movies and games. I know he took the fall for the loss of some five hundred men, but I don't know why they were lost in the first place. I know he was found in a dumpster, but it couldn't have been on Furya, and still having his umblilcal implies that his mother was killed very close to that location. These are my best guesses. None of it is certain, especially as I don't own anything more than a copy of the boxed set.

Instinct

A Chronicles of Riddick: Dark Fury Alternate Universe

Chapter One

"Gonna be a lotta questions, whoever picks us up," Jack mused from the copilot's seat. "Could even be mercs. So whadda we tell 'em 'bout you?" Even squinting in the light, I knew she was looking at Riddick.

"We don't even mention him," I said firmly, touching his arm gently. "Especially not to mercs. We'll say one of us is wounded, just barely stable, but not safe to be moved out of the skiff. I'll be a medic, staying here to 'make sure he stays stable.' We straight?"

I'd said that five days earlier, and now I was getting nervous. Even with what food and water containers had been salvaged from the geological settlement, we were running low. Maybe enough water for two more days, food for three. The skiff wasn't designed to hold a dozen people, either. We were taking turns sitting on the floor, and the air scrubbers sounded like they were about to overload.

I'd coached Fry on what she needed to say when someone hailed us, but she still didn't have it down to my satisfaction. They were all still looking to me for leadership, and Imam and the kids seemed to accept that I would be calling on Riddick for help. The others were still rather leery of the big convict; maybe that was why he hadn't slept for so much as a second yet.

Even more frustrating than dealing with the other survivors was the fact that my only physical contact with Riddick in five days had been light, quick touches. Since we'd kissed back on that hell-hole of a planet, I'd been feeling an insane need for his touch.

To conserve power, Fry had adjusted the interior lights to just fifteen percent output; it was just enough for the others to see by, yet was quite comfortable for me and Riddick. No one seemed to have noticed the silver shimmer in my eyes but Jack, though the others were visibly consumed by their own thoughts.

"Eileen, how come your eyes shine like his?" she'd asked quietly on the second day in the skiff.

"I'm not sure, kiddo," I'd replied in a whisper. I wasn't going to mention that I suspected that his parents and mine had been of the same people. I'd never gone digging for what they'd been, for the source of my enhanced senses and extraordinarily quick reflexes, which had often caused me to react before the danger had entirely manifested. My instincts kept me from the research; somehow, I just knew that my search would alert someone, and then I'd be in really deep shit.

Riddick and I had talked a lot, though the others never noticed, our voices were so quiet. He was as stumped when it came to his heritage as I was with mine. It had taken a little urging and subtle support, but he'd confided that he'd once seen the crime scene report from when he was found.

"Lady was found in an alley, behind a liquor store, with her belly ripped open. Store owner heard cryin', went out to look, and finds a kid in his dumpster, umbilical wrapped around his neck. Her ID said her name was Riddick, and they found a datacard in her pocket with a letter to a sweetheart or husband or somethin'. Said she wanted her kid named Richard B, and then the rest was scrambled, maybe on purpose. Hell of a way to come into the world." And it was. Foster homes were supposed to take care of kids, but I knew a lot of them didn't. He'd probably been through all the worst ones.

I was startled out of my thoughts by a muffled thunk, mostly transferred into the skiff by the vibration of its frame, and then a noticeable jerk on our escape vessel. My guess was that someone had finally seen us and grappled the skiff.

"Unidentified craft, please state your contents and purpose." The voice emitted by the speakers sent a bad chill down my spine. Fry looked at me, her face ashen and eyes wide, and I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging nod.

"This is Pilot Second Class Fry, with eleven other survivors aboard from the crash of Hunter-Gratzner, New Oslo Shipping Company. We have one serious injury, and request transport to the nearest spaceport." The blonde was shaking, but doing all right… so far. There was a long pause before she was answered.

"Bringing you in, Pilot. We will have a medical team dispatched to your bay immediately." Frantic, I shook my head at her. I had to hack into several databases before anyone else could be permitted to even see Riddick, or he'd land right back in slam… or dead.

"Negative, one of the other survivors is a medic, she recommends that he not be moved. There's a significant chance that his spine is damaged. He's touch-and-go as it is." 'Not bad," I thought. For something as off-the-cuff as that was…

"Acknowledged, Pilot. Will your medic be staying with him, then?" I nodded.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "The rest of us would appreciate a chance to wash up and stretch our legs, though. We've been crammed in here for five days, and the head sucks."

"Very well, Pilot. Kubla Khan out." Oh, hell. Not much more than rumors surrounded that ship; the only confirmed facts were that it existed, and that it was a merc vessel.

"Blankets," I ordered, trying to stay calm. "We have to cover him up so they can't get a good look at him." Everyone knew who I meant. Within a couple minutes, he was laid out on the decking and piled with emergency blankets. I looked up, meeting every eye in one long sweep. "Don't even breathe his name while you're out there. They probably have security cams and mikes in every corner." Then someone handed me a balled-up shirt, dripping a little water. I wasn't even sure whose it was.

We'd gotten in place just in time, too. A pair of massive bay doors closed in front of the skiff, gold gleaming off the edges, and then moved toward us, sealing us in. Something else grabbed the skiff's wings and leveled us out relative to the bay itself.

Nearly ten minutes passed before the junk-heap's half-ass instruments registered enough oxygen outside for the ramp to be released. Fry slapped the switch, then scrambled over and around everyone else. Somebody obviously couldn't wait to be free of the cramped little craft.

When we actually got to see the inside end of the bay, it was swarming with armed mercs; I could count at least a dozen, and I'd have been willing to bet that there were more out of my visual range. A single, solitary man stood on the platform that had extended from the airlock, a natty white jacket falling all the way to his ankles. Just looking at him gave me the creeps; he was pale, even for a long-term spacer, and his black hair was cropped short but for one lock that curled down the left side of his face. Trendy green sunglasses hid his eyes.

Fry took three quick steps down the ramp before springing out into the air. She turned one graceful somersault in the null-gravity zone and then gently landed on the very end of the platform. 'Should've been in N-G ballet, instead of piloting,' I thought snidely. The man sneered briefly, probably due to the stench of sweat and unwashed bodies that hung around every one of us.

"Pilot Fry, I assume?" His voice matched the one I'd heard over the comm. "New Oslo does offer an… incentive to those who pick up its stranded." The blonde nodded, and he gestured imperiously. "I am Junner. If your… fellow survivors would follow me, I will show you where you may refresh yourselves." He turned, and the golden designs on the shoulders of his coat gleamed. Junner was obviously somewhere high in the command structure, with others to do the dirty work for him.

The invitation having been issued, the others began leaving the skiff to float after Fry with varying degrees of panache. I sincerely hoped that they wouldn't need the weapons I'd made them put back into my rifle case that first day out. At least Shazza had the little makeshift bag that held the remains of one of our tiny attackers; they'd need that to show New Oslo why they couldn't go back until the eclipse was over.

The imam gave me a long, searching look before he followed his boys, his posture telling me that he wondered whether Riddick and I would be all right. I gave him a steady nod, and then only Jack was left.

"Keep your eyes open, kiddo," I told her. "Gotta stay on your toes 'round mercs." She nodded back, her eyes going as cold as steel in a blizzard, then leapt after the others. As soon as they'd all gotten beyond what I could see through the airlock, I started to raise the ramp again.

"Hey!" one of the thugs yelled. I'd figured they leave at least one babysitter behind. "Leave that down!" I leveled my best glare at him, ignoring the sting that told my that my eyes were getting too much light.

"I need some things for my patient." I slipped into haughty mode. "Soap, clean water, a sponge of some sort, and, most importantly, privacy. There will be fifteen centimeters left open at the top. This thing needs to air out, anyway." What I could see of the man's face went red, and he backed off. I could just hear him say something to someone else, then all outside was quiet again.

With the ramp in place, I dug out my computer system and powered it up. Riddick, shedding blankets as he sat up, raised an eyebrow.

"I'm guessing that there's an interstellar array somewhere on this behemoth," I told him in low tones. "I can hack into it, and then I'll contact Jamie and start hacking certain portions of the Datanet."

"To change up some records." I nodded, smirking. "Who is 'Jamie?'" The big man's voice had gone cold and dangerous as he asked the question.

"My surrogate older brother-turned-boss." I blinked, surprised by the aggression hidden in his posture even as it melted away. 'No threat,' his body now seemed to say.

"You mentioned Drift and Callahan back there." I knew that 'there' meant the planet where we'd crashed. "Just when did you meet them, and why the hell would they be saying anything good about me?"

"About six or seven years ago," I started, "they opened a dojo on Icarus Station, near where I lived with my folks. I started out in a regular aikido class, just to keep myself in shape, but within two months they'd decided to work with me separately from the other students. I'd started on my criminology degree by then, and had sort of absently noted your court-martial. It wasn't until Sergeant Drift was watching me sparring with Sergeant Callahan that he mentioned I moved the same way you did when they were training you." I scowled slightly at the amused look on Riddick's face.

"I've noticed," he said wryly. "And?"

"Well, I grilled them," I replied, shrugging. "They left The Company shortly after the court-martial, said it stank of a set-up."

"Someone had to take the fall," he muttered. If I was reading him right, Riddick was actually grieving for his battle group, even though it had been years. God, why hadn't anyone ever done anything about that? Then again, he had been blamed for the whole thing.

"It should have been the person at fault," I told him, poking his chest to emphasize my point. "What went wrong?"

"Bad intel, is my guess. We'd been fighting for days, finally got clear and transmitted where we thought we were. Command said we were behind friendly lines, so we bivouacked, but either they were wrong about the lines or our nav guys were wrong about the coordinates they sent. I woke up to hear my platoon being slaughtered." His shoulders were hunched defensively. "Killed the bastards, but that didn't bring any of my boys back."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what the Sergeants had guessed." I looked down at the decking. "They got me interested, and then it was like trying to take a bone away from a hungry dog. I kept digging, trying to find the truth. You know, they've got your age and birthplace down as 'unknown' and classified your psych and physiological records." That made him look rather sour.

"Company must know why I'm different, then, and they don't want anyone else finding out. Twenty-five, Taurus Three." I nodded. "Youngest commander in The Company ever, though. Eighteen when I got the rank." Now that was more like him, smug over his achievements, not that most would see a lot of what he did as such.

"We ever find out why, or who did that to you," I vowed, referring to his earlier confidences, "I'll gladly help you torture them." He actually smiled at that. Now sure that he wasn't going to go depressed or grouchy on me, I turned back to my system and started a text-only message.

Jamie,

Hunter-Gratzner (New Oslo Shipping Co.) crashed on a desert planet. I'm all right; a bit toasty, 'cause the damned thing had three fucking suns. I'd better be getting my money back from them. At least I had some sunscreen, so it's not nearly as bad as it could have been.

On the bright side, I met that vid star that your little sister is obsessed with. He's one of the other survivors. I'll see if I can't bring back an autograph for her. She's scarily close to the truth on all that negative press he's gotten lately.

Twelve of us survived the crash and got off the planet. We've been picked up by a ship called Kubla Khan. I'd have sent a vid message, but their array isn't set up for anything more than text. Let me know what's been going on at the office, huh?

Hope to see you again before too long.

Eileen

I smirked as I coded the message so it would piggy-back on the next outgoing signal. Since it was text-only, it was so small that no one would notice it.

Only then did I notice the deep, even breathing coming from the man propped up against the seats opposite me. Riddick's eyes were closed and his chin rested against his chest. His entire frame had gone rather limp.

'Well, I'll be damned,' I thought. 'He's gone and fallen asleep on me.' I'd caught a few catnaps since we left the planet. He was trusting me to watch out for him while his body rested. I wasn't about to let Riddick down now.

When the dumb-ass mercs brought the things I'd asked for, with a med-kit to boot, I made sure to disturb him as little as possible. God only knew when we'd have to be on the move again.