FORMALITIES
COPYRIGHTS: The character Richard Riddick, as well as the names Tangiers Penal Colony, Sigma 3, Wailing Wars, Crematoria and other references taken from the context of the movies Pitch Black, The Chronicles of Riddick, their novelizations and their official websites are borrowed from Universal Studios. The manner of their use, and everything else in Chances, is the creative creation of FanFic Member Amita4ever.
RATING: (This is, of course, about Riddick, but it's tame by the movies' standards. If however, at any time, you feels this rating needs to be changed, please inform me through my profile)
Rated - T - for:
Language: medium
Sex/Nudity: none
Violence: medium
Other:
SUMMERY:Riddick's history is piecemeal at best, and a lot happened to him before PITCH BLACK. What were the Wailing Wars? Where'd the million credit bounty come from? Why does he hate God? My take on Riddick's past.
ARCHIVES: What's that?
ON RIDDICK'S TIMELINE: Takes place less than a year after Riddick's first prison break, previous to getting his eyes shined & the movie Pitch Black. (For a more exact location, see The History of Riddick: A Writer's Tool. It's Riddick's history from official sources for the use of writers who like to pull on (or fit their stories in the vicinity of) the 'official' canon of the character. Since I posted it, I took the liberty of noting the location of my stories in it :o)
This is the second tale in a story arc I have created for Riddick that tries to fill in some of the space left by the movies while staying within the canon (universe and timeline) laid out by Universal Studios. Most stories in this arc are stand-alone with only minor references to previous stories so if you haven't read "what came before this" one don't sweat it :o).
WHAT CAME BEFORE THIS: (My other stories & their current status)
Saved by Grace (in progress) - 30 years before TCoR a man sought his future and certain events were set in motion... during the destruction of Furya an infant was left in a trashcan to die, his own umbilical 'artfully' wrapped around his neck. How'd he survive? My take.
AS ALWAYS, REVIEWS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED
(Good or bad, I value them all, but specific and/or constructive are treasured)
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PROLOGUE
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Judge Nachman looked down from the bench, "Richard Riddick, you are only 15 years old, but because of your persistence in defying regulations and your propensity for violent behavior during these past two years since you were sentenced to Corisone Correctional Colony for Juveniles it has been determined that you are beyond even their last ditch methods. Your young age makes me reluctant to authorize the early transfer to an adult facility that has been requested so I am taking a chance and selecting you for RECCooP, the new Remote Education through Civilian Cooperatives Program. It is thus I remand you into the guardianship of Raspin Grycov's Mercenary guild where I hope they might find an occupation for you that will serve as an appropriate channel for the hostility that resides in your heart. They have accepted the responsibility of your custody, discipline and training until you reach majority at the age of 18, at which time you will be considered an adult able to make decisions and commitments…" he paused, then continued in a ominous voice, "and legally capable of accepting the full consequences, good or bad, of your choices. Mr. Anderson, you may step forward and take charge of Grycov Mercenaries' newest conscript."
The Merc guild representative stepped up looking raw and dangerous even without his weapons and the judge watched as the boy looked the representative over. The look in young Riddick's eye was not intimidation, or even concern, but rather cool indifference and evaluation. For his part the merc eyed the young man distrustfully. He had been fully briefed as to the boy's tendencies and skills, and he wasn't expecting the youngster to come willingly. Above them both, the judge watched the exchange, aware there was something about the boy that troubled him. The judge had spent a long time going over the files of this young man; longer than most as he weighed his decision. Richard Riddick was a loner, intelligent, calculating - all of that showed in his records - but there was something else as well. A sense of pent up fury and curiously fractured ethics that made the judge wonder where the boy might be right now if his adoptive parents hadn't died so young. Pediatric specialists indicated that foundational morals were in place by the age of three, but young Riddick's adoptive parents had died shortly after he turned two, nor had the foster system done him many favors. By the age of seven he had been labeled incorrigible and permanently relegated to the juvenile detention system.
Once there the difficulty in keeping him contained and recovering him when he escaped only became more problematic as he grew in age and experience. To call the boy a problem child was the understatement of the century. When his last attempt actually got him off planet, he was transferred to Corisone Colony – all the measures of a maximum security prison devoted to one last attempt to recover seriously delinquent youth before condemnation to hard time for the rest of their lives. While young Mr. Riddick had not managed to escape Corisone, he had, on multiple occasions, obtained for himself liberties others did not enjoy right up to the point when it was determined he had earned himself a one-way ticket to an adult slam. It was Peter Nachman's duty to authorize it, but he had balked – sending this 15-year-old boy to live out the rest of his life among hardened convicts of the worse kind was not something his conscience could condone so the judge had taken it upon himself to give the boy one last chance. With the right mentor, the judge thought, this boy still had a chance to straighten his course and truly turn his life around, perhaps make something great of himself, although Judge Nachman feared what might happen if this young rebel ever found his peculiar nobilities challenged. The judge watched the two leave the courtroom and felt an odd urging in his soul.
Following the impulse, Judge Nachman called a break before the next case could convene. It was most certainly a breech in protocol, but there was something different about this boy that set him apart from so many of the others the judge dealt with every day and he felt a need to act. He stopped by his chambers briefly, then hurriedly made his way through the judges' secure corridors until he stood outside the courthouse. He watched through the window as the mercenary rep collected his weapons from the RECCooP Representatives' desk, then young Riddick's restraints were removed and he was handed his few belongings in a small duffle bag. It was as they stepped through the secure door to leave the judge stepped in front of them. The Merc rep was certainly surprised by his presence, but even young Mr. Riddick seemed to recognize the unusualness of the situation, and the judge hoped that might give the boy reason to pause and consider his words as he addressed himself not to the mercenary, but the boy himself.
"Richard, I feel you are an individual of rare potential who would truly be wasted in the penal system," the judge intoned quietly, "I know it is in your nature to rebel against authority, and you may even now be planning how you might get away from this obligation you feel I have forced on you…" from the voluminous sleeves of his judicial robe he pulled a bundle of leather straps and metal and placed it in the boy's hands. He saw immediately that the boy recognized the collection as the curious blades and their harness that had been confiscated at Corisone. Young Riddick had been caught with them during the traditional phase of a metalworking course; good old-fashioned forge and hammer blacksmithing. It was part of a longer program designed to teach the boys assigned to it skills that could channel extra energy and latent hostility while also giving them respected professions that would make them desirable to an outpost or in a colony where technology was limited and basic human adaptability and tenacity were a necessity.
Somehow young Riddick had managed to circumvent the security within the class and had actually completed this set of knives before he was caught. It was obvious the young man had benefited from the class. Not only was his youthful frame showing the bodily benefits of such a physically demanding activity, but the talon-like knives were well crafted, designed with an obvious purpose in mind and it was that purpose that had prompted Peter Nachman to choose the mercenary guild as young Riddick's RECCooP partner. "…but in every situation you must make a choice," the judge continued, "There are times to act, and there are times to wait. This is one of the times to wait and be absolutely certain it is not only the right action, but the right time, for once you act the decision will be irrevocable. I tell you this and pray you will consider your future very seriously because Mr. Grycov's Mercenaries are not only your best hope, they are your last chance." With that he gave the Merc rep a curt nod and disappeared back into the courthouse.
Richard Riddick watched the judge go. The man had been absolutely right. He HAD been planning to ditch this merc the first chance he had, but there was something about what the judge had said. The fact that the man had come all the way down here to say it, that he had brought the shivs and gave them to HIM – taking a chance - a big chance - on HIM, that the man had actually spoke to him as if he counted for something. Maybe the guy was on the level. He bent to stuff his shivs in the duffle, away from curious eyes, then stood and pulled it up onto shoulders already impressively muscled courtesy of the metalworking classes. The merc rep was watching him warily, but Riddick planned on making no threats here or in the near future. He had made his decision. "Were you supposed ta be takin' me somewhere?" he asked.
Mr. Anderson grinned. He'd been sent because he'd been told this one might be trouble, but it looked like the judge had put something in the boy's head. "Yeah, come on," he motioned down the steps, "you ever pilot a ship?"
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Who could have predicted that less than 5 years later, at Sigma 3, an entire company of Grycov's mercenaries would be dead.
Four hundred eighty nine casualties.
One survivor…