Voila, we have now caught up to the beginning of the movie. I know, it only took nearly half the story, but the next four chapters tend to be longer than the first three. Big changes ahead! On a side note, the moves Eileen uses when fighting are doable; my younger brother has seven inches or more on me and a good thirty or forty pounds, and I can render him helpless with one move. Funny what you learn in the Army.
Premonition
A Pitch Black Alternate Universe
Chapter Four
I had actually succeeded in zoning out when a peculiar ping-zip-ping sound reached me. We were maybe halfway through the journey, but nowhere near an appropriate stopping point for repairs, which would be necessary if that sound was what I thought it was. Then I heard the crew coming out of cryo—only the younger two, though; the woman, Fry, babbled something about the captain being dead. When she mentioned that we were hemorrhaging air, I had to squash my first instinct to panic. Panic was not going to help, not when I was stuck in one position anyway.
'Shit,' I thought. 'No way we're getting to Tangiers in this ship now.' There was a peculiar lurch as the H-G was caught by a gravity well of some sort. Emergency lights came on in the passenger module, and I felt the cryo drugs begin to leach themselves out of my system.
A thump and accompanying violent jerk told me and Owens both that Fry had made a purge, presumably dumping the main engines. She sounded like she was panicking, and that didn't reassure me one bit. I felt the temperature begin to rise, atmospheric friction heating the hull and therefore the air inside. Part of the hull must have torn then; red-orange light began to creep into my vision from the back end of the section.
The force of impact with the surface knocked my cryo-locker over, where it wedged itself between the forward bulkhead and the criminal's locker. Even as I regained control of my motor functions and tried wrenching myself from side to side, it stayed stuck in that tilted position, not quite vertical anymore. I shifted my gaze to the airlock, spotting a massive wrench jamming the mechanism open. It must have been Owens that did it; he was yelling at Fry about pulling up. Okay, so the pilot was more into self-preservation than the prospect of dying for a bunch of people she didn't know. I didn't like it, but it was only natural to feel that way.
I looked the other way just as the cargo pod ripped away, taking the end of the cabin with it. Just barely able to see beyond the big cryo-locker, I knew that others were being sucked out into the ship's howling wake. A violent shudder and a growing roar signaled our impact with the surface as, meter by meter, the section disintegrated. A sudden lurch threw me against my restraints, and I could see more of the reddish light coming through the airlock now. My locker remained stuck, but the door popped open, so I began to unbuckle.
I could see five lockers on the other side of the cabin, and guessed that there were only five or six left on my side as well. Three-quarters of the passengers were simply gone, killed by the crash landing, hopefully without ever rousing from their artificial sleep. I tumbled out onto the decking as screams rose from the direction of the command module.
I had to squint as I squeezed through the remains of the airlock and dashed across a few meters of dust and dirt to enter the mangled control center. I'd snagged my duffels as a reflex, and was immensely glad of the fact when I saw the cause of the navigator's cries. Nine others surrounded me within a couple of moments, everyone that I'd noticed except the con and the Irishman. A length of conduit protruded from the center of Owens' chest, most certainly a fatal wound.
"There's some anaestaphine in the med-lock in the back," the blonde pilot directed with an absent gesture. I wasn't the only one who turned to see the gaping hole where the bulkhead had been ripped off. Nothing was left on the bits of it that were still attached to the passenger module.
"Not anymore," Johns replied before anyone else could be a bit more gentle about the fact. In fact, he looked almost gleeful, and a sickening scent surrounded him. The scent of addiction.
"I have some here." I dug out the field kit and found a syringe of the powerful narcotic, handing it carefully to Fry. She directed a desperately grateful look at me, and I rested a hand on her shoulder before pushing eight survivors out ahead of me. From the bits I'd heard during the crash, the pair had been crewing together for quite a while. Panic or no, she deserved a chance to say goodbye to her friend in private.
This was part of why I was called to this ship and this flight, I began to realize. Just as the anaestaphine had been needed, so would everything else I'd packed. Without me, Owens would have died in agony, torturing Fry with every scream. I could happily leave Johns here to bake, though.
That was when I noticed that he hadn't been among those I'd guided back to the dubious shelter of our former conveyance. The reason was obvious as soon as I spotted him; with the assistance of his baton, Johns was forcing his prisoner over to a bent support beam, likely to chain the bigger man to it. Seeing the swift and regular rise and fall of the club, the last of my reluctance to actively confront the merc vanished.
I shoved past the others, dropping my duffels next to the girl and giving her a sharp look. She responded well, nodding and wrapping her hands in their straps. I crossed the last few meters quickly and silently.
My left fist drove sharply into Johns' right kidney, the pain causing him to jerk to a perfectly vertical stance. Then my right hand grabbed his right wrist, my thumb digging cruelly into the tendons on the inside, which spasmed and made him drop the stick. A third smooth motion twisted the arm up behind his back, causing him to lean forward and howl in pain.
"How do you like it, motherfucker?" I screamed in his ear as the blindfolded man stumbled another meter or so, until he was well out of reach. "It's not so much fun when you're the one whose ass is getting whipped by someone smaller, huh?" I yanked on his arm again, putting more of my weight on his back so that he couldn't possibly throw me off. He screamed again. "I know your number, Mr. Johns. You fuckin' mercs think you're such hot shit. Think again, asshole." A little leverage turned us both toward the missing rear of the ship, and I stepped back, still holding his arm, before planting a combat boot on his rear and kicking just as I let go. He tumbled out into the harsh light as I turned away, only partly to spare my burning eyes.
Then I began to observe the other man, who was on his knees in the shadows, balled up defensively. Damn, he was big, and ripped to boot. Purplish stripes were becoming evident across his shoulders, and I had no doubt that his black wife-beater hid more. A quick gesture to the girl brought her closer as I began to speak in low, calm tones to the man, as though he were a feral animal.
"Take it easy. I'm not going to hurt you," I assured him. Quickly, I dipped into one duffel and brought out two pairs of sunglasses, my own and one of the smallest of the regular pairs. I slipped mine on, then handed the others to the girl, who grinned and donned them. Now that I could see without pain, I turned back to the former captive.
"Okay, I'm going to take that damned bit off. That all right?" The jerkiness of his nod told me how scared he was to be at the complete mercy of someone he couldn't even see. This was apparently an unusual position for him to be in. I kept talking as I worked on the buckle at the base of his skull, simply trying to give him sound so that he knew where I was in relation to him. Hopefully, that would keep him from startling at the slightest touch and accidentally crushing me or something. When the piece of metal and leather finally fell away, he scooted further into the shadows and worked his jaw around to loosen it up.
"Why?" Just that one word, uttered in a voice like gravel, caused shivers to run down my spine, and they weren't the kind caused by fear or dread.
"Because it's the right thing to do," I replied simply. Movement in the corner of my eye turned me to find a red-faced Johns ducking back inside.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared at me. I didn't so much as blink; Sergeants Drift and Callahan had been more intimidating on their off days. The disrespect, when I had proved just minutes earlier that I could physically overpower him, only made me more angry.
"Keys, merc." He hesitated, and my next word came out in a growl that had frightened Jamie The Unflappable. "Now." All color drained from the man's face as he fumbled at his belt. His throw was off by a wide margin, something that I just knew was deliberate, but my left hand darted out and snagged the tiny missile with ease. How stupid did he think I was? I spun and had the manacles open before he could possibly react, and was working on the shackles when he did.
"Are you insane?! That's Riddick, he'll kill you before you can blink!" I raised one eyebrow in the bounty-hunter's direction.
"Really. An honor to meet you, Mr. Riddick. My instructors have spoken highly of you. Eileen Bergenhaus." I extended a hand, not actually expecting him to take it, given that he was still blindfolded. Then his hand grasped mine, not to shake it, but to assist himself in rising. Instantly I braced against his weight and leaned back, adding what leverage I could.
"Too bright," he then said, moving deeper into the shadows. 'I was right about his height,' I thought as I reached into the same duffel as before. Despite how close it was bringing her to Riddick, the girl was sticking to me like a limpet, and that garnered some respect from me. It took but a moment to find the special-order shades I'd gotten.
"These should help quite a bit," I said as I handed them over. His fingers began gliding over the lenses, examining them by touch.
"How much polarization?"
"The same as welding goggles, maybe a little stronger," I replied. "They'll help." I wasn't about to mention my own problems with excess light, not with Johns in earshot. Apparently satisfied by my assurances, Riddick yanked off the blindfold and slipped the shades on, my brief glimpse of his eyes showing that he'd screwed them shut. The padded edges looked to be making a good seal against his skin.
"Nice." Then he looked at me, a long, searching glance that went from the tips of my combat boots to the very top of my head. I could feel his eyes on me, even though I couldn't see them. "You took on Johns and won?"
"Black belt in aikido, multi-disciplinary martial arts, and Company hand-to-hand tactics from a couple of Sergeants who remembered you fondly," I replied, a bit of venom slipping into my voice. Then I grinned savagely. "It doesn't hurt to be a natural, either." That brought a smirk to his face.
The smallest Muslim boy darted inside and began babbling to his chaperone in what I guessed was Arabic. The older man turned to the rest of us, a slightly grim look on his weathered features.
"Ali says that there are two suns outside," he translated. Well, there was the reason for the sunglasses and sunscreen.
"So… What do we do now?" Fry's question—I had to wonder when she'd emerged from the command module—made everyone but Johns turn to look at me and perhaps Riddick as well, since he stood behind me.
'Great,' I thought. 'Guess who's been elected leader of this bunch.'
