DISCLAIMER: Jack, Riddick, et al are not mine. The ones you don't recognize, however, are.
RATING: R
FEEDBACK: Sure. You can reach me at mistiblu02@hotmail.com.
SUMMARY: Takes place five years after the movie (Jack is 19). Left on her lonesome, Jack has found a dangerous niche as the leader of a suffering people. But as if the government isn't a formidable enough enemy, she must now contend with a few familiar faces in the mix . . . .
A/N: This story has a short prequel entitled "Starry Night."
Chapter 1 - The Fox of Terra Mala
It had always fascinated her, the sunset. She supposed it was the art of it all -- something about the dying sky erupting with a great, final burst of color before succumbing to the unending darkness of night; the violent clash of violets and oranges; the defiant glare of the sun as it sank beneath the dark trees and dilapidated skyscrapers; the tingle in the air as it settled into the chill of night. It was dramatic, it was poetic. It appealed to her sense of aesthetics.
Jack nearly laughed. 'Sense of aesthetics'? Shit . . . been hanging around Nigel too long.
She shook her head and turned from the window. The man sitting by her desk gave her a curious look. "Boss?"
"Just thinking, Lucas." Jack grinned crookedly. "Just thinking."
Lucas nodded somberly, as if that explained everything. He was used to Jack's "moods." He rose from the chair, the worn leather creaking gratefully as his weight lifted. "What do you want me to tell Bendino?"
"Tell him to fuck off."
"That's all?"
"No." With a sharp thud, Jack slammed a black briefcase on the table between them. "Tell him no deal. He knows what I want, and it's not his bosses' money."
Lucas heaved the briefcase off the desk and nodded at Jack. "Will do, Boss."
Jack turned back to the window, listening to his heavy footsteps as he made his way out of the room. The door squeaked open, then slammed shut. Jack leaned against the window frame and breathed in the dusty air, the stifling quiet.
Jack hated the quiet.
Moments later, she smiled again. She could hear Bendino's loud curses from below, muffled but obviously angry. Now that's more like it. She could just see his flushed, round face as he squared off with Lucas. Then, there were the sounds of a scuffle, of bodies grunting and heaving as fists flew, of even more voices calling out in agitated disarray. Then there was a brief silence followed by a final, high-pitched yell from the rotund lawyer.
Finally, she heard the vicious slam of the building's front door as Bendino left to report to his superiors, those "bigwig bastards," as Nigel put it. Just another failed attempt to crack the Fox of Terra Mala's indomitable armor.
Jack grinned slightly before looking outside. The expression faded as she took in the descending night. The trouble with sunsets is that they were, by nature, only brief and futile light shows before darkness fell. And in the darkness, there was no light, nothing to do but sleep or wait -- with your eyes closed, of course. She would not look into the night.
If there's anything Jack hated more than the quiet, it was the night.
She pushed herself away from the window and drew the yellowed curtains closed, hating herself a little for her weakness. Five years, and she still couldn't put the past behind her. Five years of trying to forget that doomed journey that had turned the course of her young life on its spine.
She dreamed about it, still, and her dreams made the memories worse. The nights were an eternity, her sheets tying her to her bed and the tortures of her mind as she thrashed against those nightmare creatures over and over. But sometimes she dreamed of the skiff, and those dreams were even more painful in their own way. Because that's where the quiet came in, where she relived the pall of silence that had blanketed her as she realized that the real monster was in returning to a reality without Riddick. When she realized that the man to whom she had carelessly given her allegiance and trust wouldn't be there to save her anymore.
Jack suddenly felt a sharp sting in her palms. Looking down, she saw that she had unconsciously balled her hands into such tight fists that her nails had dug into her skin. She frowned in irritation. "That's what you get for being so damn touchy," she muttered.
"I think 'bitchy as all hell' sounds better on ya," said a voice from behind her.
Jack smiled before turning. "That mouth on you, Nigel," she said, shaking her head in mock offense.
The man grinned and waggled his pale eyebrows. "Is that an invitation?" He glanced down at the empty leather chair in front of the desk, took out a handkerchief, and lightly dusted the seat before sinking down on it. Purely for effect; that was Nigel.
Jack ignored his comment and instead tilted her head, bemusedly taking in his clothes. "Nice coat."
"Oh, you like it?" Nigel proudly adjusted the lapels of the garish yellow gabardine blazer that hung loosely around his thin shoulders. "That Billy Bendino's got nice taste in clothes."
Billy . . . Billy Bad Ass. Jack abruptly cursed herself for wandering and forced a snide grin. "You and Lucas didn't make too much of a mess down there, did you? Old man Tanner has this thing about blood on the floor."
"Nah, we were good." At the suspicious tilt of her eyebrows, Nigel raised his hands defensively. "Honest! Roughed 'em up just enough to send the message."
"And what message would that be?"
"The Fox ain't no sell out."
Jack stared at him for a long moment before finally leaning heavily against the edge of her desk. Nigel frowned. Jack was usually in a good mood after handing Bendino's ass back to him on a platter. He looked at her critically. Her face was smooth and deceptively still, but there was a shadow across her brown eyes that he'd never noticed before. It stood out on the pale perfection of her face like an open wound.
"Jack," he said, the lightness gone.
She looked up and was met by his own concerned eyes. She smiled grimly. "Just thinking, Nigel."
"Don't give me that."
"What?"
His bony hands rested firmly on her shoulders. Bending slightly, he lowered his head so he could look directly at her. "Look at me, would ya? This ain't Lucas here. And I ain't one of your adoring public. You can tell me you're shitting and I won't think any less of ya."
Jack sighed and closed her eyes. "How much money did he offer this time?"
Nigel furrowed his brow. "Bendino? You counted it yourself, Jack. Fifty grand. Why?"
"I bet the hospital could've used some of that."
She opened her eyes and Nigel saw the storm of uncertainty in them. It wasn't fair to her, he suddenly realized; heroes shouldn't have to think about this -- they shouldn't have to doubt. Every single person on this godforsaken colony wanted her to be their answer to their government's inhumanity; as a result, they expected her to be inhuman as well, to be as automatic and sure in her righteousness as they were in their injustice.
But Jack wasn't like them; she felt too much to be like them.
"Yeah, probably," he finally said. "But it wouldn't have lasted long. The money, I mean."
"But after all this time . . . it's something --"
"Jack," he said firmly, "they have millions. And it's all ours. The people's. Gardeno's been milking us for all we're worth since before you came here. You think that fifty grand coulda fixed things? Girl, it ain't worth spit compared to what he and those bastards've stolen from us. It was nothing, Jack, ya hear? What you give us -- that's something."
Jack looked up at him for a long, grateful moment before a short laugh finally burst from her. "I take it back," she said. " You're who's damn touchy around here."
"An' if you tell anyone, you're gonna get smacked." He gave her a small grin before straightening. "I meant it, though, Jack," he continued, seriously. "Gardeno steppin' down -- that's the only thing that's gonna fix this fucked-up hell hole."
Jack rolled her neck to the side, trying to quash the building stiffness. "He'd better hurry then. We only got so much fight left."
Nigel gave her another critical glance. "The people don't know that," he said carefully. "You keep going, and they'll keep following ya. Just remember that."
She snorted. "Like I could forget."
There was silence for a few seconds before Nigel coughed and pulled a rolled-up newspaper out of his pocket. "Here. This should make you happy."
Jack raised an eyebrow at him.
"Gardeno's gorillas at the paper are predicting a 'Nice, mild day tomorrow. Perfect conditions for spending the day outdoors.'"
"Perfect mining conditions, they mean?" Jack said, her mouth curling upwards.
"Yup." Nigel grinned slyly. "Imagine the bitching session Gardeno'll have when all five thousand of his workers decide to call in sick tomorrow."
Jack grinned back. 'Good mining days' were rare in Terra Mala, which was usually plagued with severe monsoons when it wasn't suffering from scorching heat. The strike tomorrow couldn't have been timed more perfectly.
"If we're lucky, he'll get so pissed that he'll fire Bendino."
"Hey, I like Bendino!" Nigel said in mock protest. "Where else would I get my clothes?"
Jack rolled her eyes and snatched the paper from him. "Anything about me in here?"
"The usual. You're bad, the gov wants ya, hell and brimstone to anyone who's hiding ya, and some more shit like that. I think they even upped the reward on ya."
"You're kidding." Jack skimmed the page until she came to her picture. She gave a low whistle. "Seven hundred thousand creds, huh?"
"Yup. And that reminds me . . . ." Nigel peered at her over the top of the paper to get her attention. "We're gonna have to bust outta this place soon. Now, I know you'll miss all this charming decor--" he said sarcastically, waving at the dingy surroundings, "--but once Gardeno hears from little Billy, he's gonna have his dogs running after your ass soon. He'll be even more desperate after the strike tomorrow."
"You got someplace in mind?"
"Yeah. Tanner's kid's in town for a coupla days. His ship's at Dock 6. We leave before dawn, we can cool our heels there for a while."
"Nice." Jack nodded approvingly before turning back to the paper. "So, anything else?"
"Um, yeah. Our esteemed Pres hired some crime advisor to deal with the 'alarming rise of civil disobedience.'"
"Ooh, a new toy." Jack winked at him. "He shouldn't have--"
She broke off suddenly. Nigel peered around the newspaper to see what was the matter. She was staring at a picture beside the article he had just quoted. It showed Gardeno's dark profile and a tall, bulky figure standing beside him.
"Yeah, that's him. Gardeno's new lackey. The shined eyes are a nice touch, but we can take 'im."
When Jack remained silent, Nigel finally tapped her on the shoulder. "Jack? Hey . . . what is it?"
He did not like this look on her face. Her usually carefully composed features were almost unrecognizable; her mouth hung slightly open and her eyes stared unseeingly at the page, haunted and anguished. Unconsciously, Nigel reached out to lightly touch her wrist. Her hands were shaking as they clenched the paper.
"Jack." Now he was starting to worry. "Jack, what is it? You recognize him?"
Jack nodded and took a deep breath, slowly putting down the paper. She turned away from him to face the curtains, trying to penetrate past the thin cloth and into the deep blackness of the night that she could never seem to shake.
"Riddick."