Chapter 11

Previously…Standing up cautiously from his impromptu foxhole Riddick heard the familiar sound of armaments cycling up and turned. The cleric who'd taken an interest in him earlier stood before a group of people he recognized, much to his (apparent) misfortune. All of the weapons, including what was likely a missile launcher, were aimed in Riddick's direction.

Well…it wasn't as if he hadn't been expecting something along these lines.

The robed man looked at the wreckage of the Necromonger craft but there was nothing to suggest sympathy in his stance. He moved towards Riddick pulling the cowl of his robes back as he did.

Riddick chuckled, "So, all you sleeping beauties finally woke up for the fun?"

One of the mercs was studying his instruments readouts, "'Nother one circling. Not focused yet but closing. We should move. We should move now."

The leader, a merc named Toombs, and halfway competent since he'd been the one who caught up with Riddick on the ball of ice he'd started out on after he'd left New Mecca the first time. He'd been dogging Riddick's trail for going on five years and change. He had delusions of adequacy which made him perfect for Riddick's purpose. Stumbling across his quarry in Alliance space had swelled his head, as if he'd had something to do with sheer dumb luck (or the wave Cobb had sent per Riddick's theory) dropping Riddick in his lap.

"Toombs likes to talk," Riddick drawled in amusement. The mercs shifted anxiously behind their leader, not at all comfortable with their quarry's ease regarding the weapons pointed at him. Or their surroundings. Necromongers were definitely out of their comfort zone.

"Two things you could have done better," Toombs crowed. "First, find and trash the emergency wake up mechanism that goes off when we're on the ground more than twelve hours and haven't been revived." He smirked, "But that would have meant taking time to find it. You musta been in one shit-fired hurry. Second, and this is really the more important part, you shoulda dusted my dick when you had the chance."

Cleverly Toombs was keeping out of arms reach, but he reached beneath his pilfered cleric's robes and pulled out a pair of cuffs, tossing them to Riddick. Catching them out of the air was simple and he had to force himself not to smile as Toombs continued, "Let's do this once more. One last time. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Riddick put the cuffs on. "What took you so fuckin' long?"

The mercs were in a celebratory mood, though the co-pilot was actually doing her job, "Stand by, stand by…" She muttered. "Picking up fields here. Frequencies all over the place." Her hands danced over the instrumentation.

The pilot was working alongside her, managing his own duties, analyzing the read outs and tallying up what the numbers might mean, "Shit, here it comes."

The co-pilot was shaking her head, "Some kinda scan. Reading our drive spit maybe." Her attention was split between half a dozen readouts. "I dunno, I dunno…"

Toombs didn't hesitate, "Don't wait for detailed analysis. Let's drop one."

Riddick watched and wondered if they realized that all they were doing was delaying the inevitable. A merc version of what Kaylee called a cry baby. The small independent section that dropped off and sailed away on its own course would fool trackers for a while. But eventually they'd catch up to it, backtrack and find the right trail. If they were Necromonger scans, (and really what else could it be since Helion Prime's forces were busy on planet or decimated, of the two decimated being more likely) then the Necros would be on their asses soon enough. Then there'd be hell to pay.

The celebrations stopped momentarily as everyone held their breath to see if the ploy had worked. The indicators on the console were dropping, and finally hitting the flat line of safety. He shook his head, now they were all relaxed. Idiots. He wondered if they had any idea that he had a clear view of their entire cockpit from their little lockup. If they knew they weren't worried about it.

They'd already put the cryo cuff on him, just holding off on the drugs for a bit, for whatever reason. Toombs coming back to see him gave him that answer. The merc liked to talk about as much as Cobb did and about equaled Serenity's merc in intelligence. "So," The wiry merc began conversationally. "Where do we drop your merc-killin' ass?" He stroked his chin feigning a thoughtful expression, "Maybe Butcher Bay, darkside."

Riddick considered a moment, "Butcher Bay? Thelriss system? Ten minutes every other day on the dog run. Good protein waffles too. Fauna, not veg." He waited for another feint and Toombs didn't disappoint.

Toombs acted as if Riddick hadn't even spoken, though his shifting posture suggested his train of thought was slightly derailed. "Or, hey, how 'bout Ursa Luna? Nice little double-max prison. Small, secure, compact. Civilized. Penal boutique."

The big man shrugged indifferently, "They keep a cell open for me." He watched the merc's face, his thoughts churning. Everything was planned for, designed to lead Toombs in the direction he wanted the merc to go, and added conversationally, "Just in case I drop in."

Toombs nodded, pretending he'd expected to hear something along those lines, "Real predictable, you know that? You know what I'm thinkin' now?"

"That if your mother had known your father you'd be raising fruit on Bannkul IV?"

Toombs' jaw clenched and a muscle twitched in his cheek but that was the only visible outward reaction. Riddick kept his smirk to himself and sure enough Toombs couldn't shut up, "I'm thinkin' the problem with these joints now? Health clubs for waffle-eatin' pussies. Just not right for an elite guest like yourself. Wouldn't be doin' you fair to let you off somewhere lotus land-like, where they might stick you doin' somethin' really hard time like clerical. Maybe we should think about uppin' our game here a little bit." Toombs was staring down at Riddick, actually enjoying himself, sadistic glee in his eyes, "Think about someplace truly diabolical." He smiled, "fine word, 'diabolical'. Five syllables, all of 'em totaling up to narsty."

Riddick remained silent, the more Toombs talked the easier it was to figure his game, all the little variations the merc might try. He might lose to River at conventional chess eight out of ten games, being rusty at moving pieces on a board and thinking in only two dimensions, but this type of chess match…he never lost. He'd been playing this game all his life. Mercs and the way their minds worked, manipulation… oh yeah… And once River got through with her training, could think for herself, she wouldn't ever lose either. One day River would likely match him. And damn that would be a helluva lot of fun. Interesting reference 'lotos-like', he doubted Toombs had ever read the classics River had quoted. Tuck that thought away for when he saw her again. But for now…back to the idiot at hand.

The co-pilot turned to her colleague and commented in a low voice, "What the hell's he thinking? Now?"

Riddick answered, enjoying the slight start of her shoulders as his voice rolled through the lock up to the cockpit, "He's thinkin' triple-max. A no-daylight slam. Only three of 'em left in this system. Used to be more, but 'civilized' folks raised a stink, wouldn't have 'em in their planetary back yard. NIMS—not in my system. Where there's a demand though, there's always money to pay for it. Just keep it out of the sight of enlightened folk, that's all. Out of sight, out of mind, but be sure an' keep the minding part strong."

He looked at Toombs, "Two of 'em way out in the borderlands other side of the Arm. Too far outta range for a shitty little undercutter with no legs like this one. Not unless you wanna spend forty years in cryo. That leaves just one." No way he got it wrong. Serenity had been sailing the ghost lanes to Greenleaf. The mercs had gotten lucky, picking him up halfway to Helion Prime already. Now if they wanted him in a Triple Max there wasn't a lot of choice about it. If he'd been any further into Alliance space, say White Sun, they wouldn't have picked up Serenity's signal.

Now Toombs did look irritated. Riddick had stolen his thunder and while he vacillated between how to recover the conversational high ground and simply walking away, Riddick finished, "That is what you had in mind, right, Toombs? Crematoria."

"Fuck you," Highly original response, typical fuckin' Toombs. "Feelin' warm yet? If not, soon enough." Turning he snapped an order over his shoulder, "You heard him. Dope it out." He sneered at Riddick before he swaggered off.

The pilot was grousing over his instruments, "I hate this run."

The co-pilot had a more immediate concern, "Hey, how does he know where we're goin', and we don't?" She had a point. A reasonable worry when the prisoner seemed (and damn well was) smarter and knew more than the boss.

"Just do it," Toombs tried out a snarl and it didn't work nearly as well for him as it did for his prisoner.

Riddick, always watching for an opening, nearly smiled, "Don't know about this new crew, Toombs." He commented with blatantly false sympathy, "They seem a bit skittish. All worried about something. Probably shouldn't tell 'em what happened to the last crew."

He loved when mercs tried to think, they got the funniest expressions on their faces. Toombs was (finally, damn the merc was slow) figuring out that even though Riddick was in chains, the prisoner was still more of an authority figure than he was. Bluster filled his voice, "You know, you supposed to be some slick-shit killer. Now look at you...all back-of-the-bus and shit. No follow through, that's your problem Riddick. But don't worry, I'll handle it for you." He gestured at one of his crew, "Getting on time for jump. Change his goddamn oil."

Clearly annoyed he stalked forward to harangue his pilots and the merc he'd gestured at moved cautiously towards Riddick. After making doubly sure the prisoner's bonds weren't compromised he began to activate the standard cryofeed that they'd hooked Riddick up to earlier. "So, uh…" He slid a cautious look in Toombs direction before continuing, "What did happen to the other guys?"

All this talk with idiots was getting annoying. Damned if he'd waste his words on some moron underling didn't have the brains to figure out for himself what had happened when Toombs had caught up with him on that frozen rock of a planet. Besides, staying silent was bound to work their nerves more than any explanation. Their imaginations would be running away in double time.

The merc frowned, clearly disappointed and continued his task, albeit a bit rougher than before, "Ohhh—don't wanna talk to me. Y'know Riddick, I'm gonna be awake a lot longer than you." His words hung in the air, an impotent threat that Riddick couldn't be bothered to give a reaction. The firm slap/pat on Riddick's cheek, and an insolent, "Nighty-night," likewise achieved no reaction.

Why waste energy when there was no payoff.

He hadn't had much rest in the last thirty-six hours, so he didn't force himself to stay awake. For all the effect the cryo drugs had on him, he might as well be entering a normal REM cycle. This was as close to safe as he would get on a merc ship, with all the crew asleep in the comforting embrace of cryo.

The light that appeared at the edge of his vision didn't hurt his eyes, didn't even cause them to narrow against the brightening glare. Round and golden, it rose over an amber sea, it's twin behind it, ghostly silver blue and casting paths of the same light across the fields. He would never tire of seeing these sights. Furya. That was the only possible planet it could be.

Around him buildings rose, sturdy and carefully constructed to resist the winds that could sweep with growing violence over the plains. The domes of their walls were only the only thing above ground. The rest were below, expansive rooms in the warmth of the earth, comforting and familiar. He knew, somehow, that buildings on the mountains were the same, their walls echoing the cliff face while the homes drove into the rock. Everything on the planet had been designed for survival against the harsh demands of their home world. Furya devoured the weak and forced the strong to become stronger.

He walked down the steps to the door and entered the main space, a large but still cozy room. A work room of some sort, with tools, the terms for which he dredged out of his memory. A spinning wheel. Drying racks. Cards for wool and other natural fibers ranging from coarse to fine. She was there, working at a machine he recognized somehow as a loom, a combination of new and old. Made of metal and wood combined, the tapestry of wool that emerged on the back side of the cloth showed a familiar sight.

The Basilica, grotesque statues and all, a great hall, and with wide wings spread, a dragon breathing blue fire down upon it, a crushed throne beneath its clawed feet. "There can be no future, until we settle our past," Shirah told him gently. Her voice tugged at him and he remembered the vision he'd had on Serenity of a chamber beneath a mountain walls painted possible futures. He'd bet any amount of money he'd just left the setting of one, the Basilica, that dark throne and shadow filled people. "You have the power and the grace to do so. Will you?"

"I've gotta get Jack," He told her. "I shouldn't have left her alone."

"Some things are meant to happen," River's voice was firm as she entered the room from a doorway beyond Shirah and her loom. Through it he could see the galley of Serenity, the crew gathered around the table, one of the sit-down meals Mal insisted they have once a day. The familial custom had made the crew more than crew, made even relative newcomers like Riddick feel part of Serenity. "Some things, cannot be prevented. Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace to look through and behind this mask of me (Against which years have beat thus blanchingly with their rains), and behold my soul's true face, the dim and weary witness of life's race."

"You will find her," Shirah agreed. "As you must. But if you do not restore her faith in you, despite her choices, in spite her past, it will all be for naught."

River nodded, "Lóng Wáng will triumph, but a hollow victory is no victory at all. Because thou hast the faith and love to see, through that same soul's distracting lethargy, the patient angel waiting for a place in the new Heavens,-because nor sin nor woe, nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood, nor all which others viewing, turn to go, nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,-nothing repels thee."

He touched her cheek, smiling as she turned her face into his palm and looked up at him, "This one of those things that's meant?" He wondered. This was no child. This was a woman. Slender yes, and still so much smaller than him, but her face was that of an adult and her body had curves that made her maturity plain. Delicate in the way a stiletto or a rapier was delicate. Her eyes though, they remained unchanged, glowing from within, dark as the Black and filled with knowledge. His memory pulled out an old quote, heard from some bible thumper ages ago, 'he who increases knowledge increases sorrow'.

"He dislikes feeling as if he has no choice, destiny is a prod, pushing him down a path he has no wish to travel," She smiled up at him, gentle fingers stroked along his jaw. God, her fingertips, soft and sweet, so tender on his flesh…like nothing he'd ever experienced. Illusion or vision? Suddenly craving the sensation of her touch, those tender hands on his skin. "All the 'Verse will hang in the balance, waiting for his choice to be made. Furyans, defiant until the end."

"We cannot force you to do our bidding," Shirah agreed. "Nor would we wish to do so. Guidance should not be synonymous with constraint. One does not own one's children. And no one can force a Furyan's choice. To attempt it is…the definition of insanity. The only thing you must do is what you feel is right."

"But you'd like me to fix it so the Necromongers are done," Riddick looked at the blonde at the loom.

"You have the means to do so, you always have, now you have woken," Shirah shrugged as she continued weaving. "Whether or not you will… Only you can say. Choice forced is no choice at all. Furyans do not abide by such constraints."

"Once it's done…what happens?" He looked at River again, she'd drifted away from him and was drawing on the walls, a mural of the Necropolis overcome with blue light, a dark rift over the throne and screaming shadows drawn into it without mercy or will to resist.

"We have no true answer," She told him not turning from her work. "The future is not set. He is the only one who can decide his path. Here at least we shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce, To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n." She tilted her head and he remembered that same move from his bunk, words rolling off her tongue in his cadence and manner, "Of course they're gonna try to kill me; death is what they do for a living."

"Their Underverse does sound a lot like Hell," He mused.

"The Lord Marshall carries part of it with him," Shirah's voice held all the distaste her face lacked. "He is not to be underestimated. The stain of the Underverse spreads like a sickness. A disease. A poison."

"The Wrath part of taking him down?" He looked at River's mural.

Shirah nodded, "Just as Darkness parts before Light. As Life gives way to Death…Death will give way to Life."

It wasn't much to go on, and it wasn't like it would be an easy road, but the Necromongers… apart from what they'd done to his people… They seemed set on exterminating all life in the universe. Including him. Sooner or later they'd get around to the Alliance systems so running wouldn't do the trick. He might hate being prodded or pushed but he disliked the idea of being exterminated like a roach a whole lot more.

"Still hasn't made up his mind," River, at his side again, her fingertips touching his lips. "Seeks the result that will most benefit him. Survival above all." Hands touched his chest, his shoulders, the feel of a woman's body rubbing against his…

He snapped awake in an instant, eyes still hidden behind his goggles and watched, impassive and unmoving as the co-pilot straddled his thigh and rubbed against him, breath coming in sharp pants. She was practically giving him a lap dance but unless he could fuck the dancer in question that hadn't ever done much for him. Temptation without follow through…no point to it. Always felt more like a tease or a powerplay than seduction. Her hands moved to his face, hovering over his goggles and he stayed still. Would she have the nerve to do it?

It took her a moment but she worked up the gumption to pull his goggles up to his forehead. And nearly fell backwards but for his legs trapping her against his body at the sight of his eyes staring at hers. He knew they startled people, bright mercury glaring out of the darkness, he could count on it. Riddick tilted his head slightly, "Do you know that you grind your teeth when you sleep? Sexy." He drawled, deadpan. Merc women were all manipulation, ball busting and bitchy, like being female was something shameful and they had to be more badass than the men around them. Being equal wasn't enough. All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others; he recalled hearing that at one point or another.

Humiliated and now thoroughly freaked out she fled the moment his legs relaxed around her, taking refuge in the cockpit and the co-pilot's seat.

One by one the rest of the mercs came out of cryo sleep. Riddick watched as they went through the rituals of rehydrating and adjusting to regular gravity. Supralight travel was hard on the human body, and cryo kept people from developing brittle bones and other issues associated with it. Toombs disdained the recommended water allotment and gargled with a bottle of tequila. And he'd thought the merc couldn't get any dumber. He would give Cobb a run for his money at this rate. Actually, Cobb had proved somewhat educable, so he might just be ahead of Toombs in the brains department.

The co-pilot's voice was still trembling slightly as she reported, "I make it almost seven hundred degrees on the dayside." More clicking and she added, "Three hundred below, or thereabouts, on the night side." She was fastening protective goggles around her eyes; the pilot already wore the same.

Toombs stood next to Riddick, nodding slowly, he clearly knew what to expect from the planet by reputation if nothing else. "Lemme tell you: if I owned this place and hell, I'd rent this out and live in hell. At least in hell the climate's consistent."

Riddick remembered Paris saying something similar about that planet they'd nicknamed Hades, before everything had gone to hell in handbasket. He lifted himself from his chair slightly and used a support beam to push his own goggles back down over his eyes. Crematoria's sun was nothing to screw with.

The co-pilot was reading her console, "We've got permission to land." She looked over at the pilot, puzzled, "What's with the caution? I don't recognize the code."

The pilot was working his side of the board, "Means no automatics permitted. Security measure. Don't ask me why. I wasn't the nutcase who decided to put a slam here." He flicked a few switches, "Switching to manual control as per ground directives."

Riddick waited, if the pilot was half as good as he or Wash, the transition would be smooth as silk. The telltale jolt as they went to manual gave him a very accurate indication of the pilot's skills. Nowhere near his league. Wash would laugh at the idea of automated landings. And Riddick had become so used to flying junkers without automatics that landings and takeoffs were damn near instinctive these days. Serenity wasn't a junker but her autopilot didn't run to that level. He doubted Wash would want it to.

The console chimed a warning about their entry angle and Riddick rolled his eyes, they couldn't even calculate the correct angle of entry to the atmosphere without the cortex. His opinion of this crew was getting lower and lower. Adding insult to injury the sun was coming over the horizon. The temperature change played merry hell with the air currents and the ship shuddered. Hot air hitting cold, the winds would be insane.

He could appreciate the pilot's nerve; he didn't slow down. With a choice between a rough speedy landing or the ship coming apart in midair it wasn't a hard decision. Without being asked the co-pilot slammed her hand down on a large button mid console, "Party poppers." She called out.

The ship gave another hard jolt, but the emergency atmospheric engines deployed behind the ship, eating atmosphere and burning in the opposite direction. The effect was immediate as the ship steadied, decelerating and dropping faster. They cut out just before the ship slid to a hard stop in the center of the runway and just inside the hanger. Any longer and the nose of the ship would have crumpled against the far wall. If they'd stopped any sooner the ship would have burnt to a crisp a few feet short of the hanger and safety.

The mercs were laughing nervously around him as the pilot removed his protective goggles, "And that's why I hate this run."

One of the other mercs asked hesitantly, "What happens if you miss the first approach and have to go around again?" It was the same moron who'd asked what had happened to Toombs' last crew.

The co-pilot squinted up at him, "You like fried food?"

Another, a fat fucker with a buzzcut commented, "I think I just shit myself."

Riddick looked over at the erstwhile merc boss, "Skittish Toombs, very skittish."

Manacles, shackles, chains between both to keep him from taking a full stride every member of the crew had guns on him as he walked down the steps to the sled. The transport station was barely worth of the name. Grimy and basic, just like the planet.

The sled was more of a mining car with an engine attached. Longer though, with metal bars, straps and another flat car behind it, even more thoroughly equipped. They wasted no time getting him chained down and strapping themselves in. The Buzzcut sat on top of Riddick, gun pointed right at the convict's face. "Comfy?"

Speech was pointless. If he talked it would just waste his breath and make them feel more comfortable. Silence became a weapon now.

He waited, watching, the lights overhead flicking past, timing them. Buzzcut leaned over Riddick and rubbed his fingers over the lenses of Riddick's goggles, "When the ride's over, your goggles are mine." Riddick could almost see his thoughts, what could the convict do to him, strapped down to the bottom of the cargo cart.

A question easily answered, timing was everything, and control. He had both in spades. It wasn't much of a movement, certainly nothing that would draw the notice of Toombs sitting with his back to them in the first cart. But it was enough to push the merc upwards, just enough. His head hit one of the protruding lights, tearing it off messily before the body tumbled over Riddick and off the sled.

Toombs looked back at the shout and Riddick just shrugged at him. The merc started to cackle with laughter, "Four-way split. Four-way split!"

It wasn't long after that the sled began to decelerate, approaching the prison and slammed to a halt. Twenty-nine point four kilometers. Not a terrible distance.

The head of the prison was there to greet them, "So this is Riddick."

Putting him in the slam was…a process. They attached him to an O-ring that attached to a chain and the chain wound around a winch. The guards pulled a manhole cover off the floor and began lowering him into the prison. He'd heard about Crematoria, admired the gumption it took to turn the planet into a triple max slam, from a purely intellectual standpoint. The prison was the remains of a volcano, dug out on the sides up and down the central shaft to make cells, storerooms and tunnels. The 'reception area'/office he'd gone through was like a cap to the volcano shaft, mechanized and deliberately low tech.

Extreme heat and extreme cold tended to wreak merry hell on high tech systems. Sailing the Black was an entirely different animal and the changes between the icy vacuum of the Black and the heat of atmosphere more than half the reason for regular maintenance. Basic was better in an environment like Crematoria. When survival depended upon equipment working, the simpler the better. Anything the inmates could break, the guards (in theory) could fix. Parts were easily replaced. And to leave the prison…a death sentence. If you didn't have a plan.

They couldn't close the manhole cover until the chains retracted so he got to hear Toombs arguing with the prison boss over how much the mercs would get. "What in the bowels of Christ are you talkin' about, seven hundred?" The winch jerked to a halt and Riddick hung in mid-air.

"Remind him," The prison boss's voice spoke.

Another one, more relaxed and chewing on something, began to explain, "Look you know how it works Toombs. The Guild pays us a caretaker's fee for each prisoner, each year. Out a that there's all sorts of peripheral costs—"

Toombs cut him off, Riddick guessed he'd gotten impatient because he didn't know what peripheral meant. "I wired this in at eight-fifty. Nobody at that time said anything about 'peripheral costs'."

"Don't take this one boss," A new voice joined the debate.

The prison boss seemed pleased to have another voice on his side, "See? Anatoli here has a nose for trouble. And this one, this Riddick guy...Big, big trouble."

"This guy doesn't come with a record, this one." The new voice elaborated, "He comes with an encyclopedia." A halfway smart guard; he knew what an encyclopedia was at least.

"So… you see," The Boss said as the winch started again. "Seven hundred is good money."

"I'd take the money, Toombs," Riddick figured he might as well offer his two cents. Around him, the prisoners began to bang whatever metal they had against the railings and bars.

"How's about this?" With Toombs' voice the winch stopped again. "You open that safe you got hidden behind the console there, show me the real books, then we figure out my cut. Then I'll be on my way."

"Open my books," The prison Boss couldn't have sounded more shocked if Toombs' suggestion had been for them to take a lengthy stroll topside, at noon. "Let you roam through the hard copy? This is what you suggest?" Unspoken was the implication that the suggestion was at best idiotic and at worse suicidal. No one simply opened up their books. Mal trusted his crew and was open with them but he still didn't show them the books. Of course, with Mal that could be because there wasn't much in them. Riddick would bet tax season was a complete bitch.

"Wasn't a suggestion," Toombs returned.

The conversation continued from there, quieter, the clink of glass as the winch lowered a bit more before stopping three meters from the floor of the cavern. The prison boss was talking about a ghost army, dead planets, all the shit that had put the citizens of Helion Prime in a tizzy before reality had come calling. When the talk ended with Toombs and his crew staying a day while the boss 'reran' the numbers Riddick gave the area he was hovering in his full attention.

He wasn't going to complain, he was out of reach, able to get a good view of damn near everything. But he also was getting a little bored hanging out like someone's bait on a hook. Three figures had approached the ground beneath him, makeshift pickaxes in their hands. Opportunists, ready to make a try for the new resident before he got his feet under him.

Time to impress a few folks and make clear to the guards and mercs that he wasn't quite as…tame as he acted. He'd pulled the move once or twice before, with heavier chains. It would be even easier now. His yo-yo act he'd called it, hadn't had to use it in a while, not that he felt rusty at all really. Coiling the chain around his waist in order to climb higher. Higher and higher and then letting it unroll quickly snapping him loose of the O-ring.

A flip, a twist as he fell and bunched muscles torqued open his bonds. That particular trick he could have pulled earlier, on the merc ship, or being transported to the prison. But while he could have forced open his restraints he still would have faced three or four guns. Get all, get free. Get three, get dead. It did no good to call the shots if he couldn't call the odds. Something else he'd have to teach his little apprentice once he got back.

Landing he caught the first blow, parried and dislocated the attacker's shoulder, driving the pick-axe wielding arm so far backwards that the end of the pick pierced the man's spine. He turned and began to take apart the second attacker. That forced him to put his back to the third.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the third swinging his axe only to drop it mid swing to claw at a chain that had wrapped around his throat. As Riddick disposed of his second assailant the chain began pulling back. Following it with his gaze the chain led to a deceptively small figure. The slender figure wasn't a surprise, but the curved lines of it were.

She disappeared into the broken stone that littered the bottom of the cavernous space. Two steps to follow her and he was brought up short by a deep male voice that echoed around the walls. "There are inmates..." He began to make his way down from his upper walkway. "And there are convicts."

Riddick regarded the prisoner, "Who says so?"

"I say so," The prisoner retorted. "The Guv says so." His men nodded from their positions behind him. "A convict has a certain code. And he knows to show a certain respect. Respect to his fellows, respect to the system. The convict system, not the prison system. Our system." He and his supporters reached the cavern floor and approached Riddick. "An inmate, on the other hand, pulls the pin on his fellow man. Does the guards' work for them. Brings shame...To the game."

Behind him his supporters ranged themselves, each regarding Riddick but without any outward hostility, for the moment. There was always someone who ruled the convicts, or a good portion of them. Sometimes they were pricks; if you were lucky they were decent men. This one…only time would tell. Though the content of the speech was promising Riddick had seen too much to trust only words, "And in this slam, inmates get someone right up in their mouth. Might be right in the middle of breakfast, might be in the middle of night. But it's damn fucking straight righteous inevitable."

One of the initial attackers tried to rise and the man kicked him in the teeth putting him down again. He regarded Riddick, "So, which are you gonna be?"

He looked the assembly of self-declared convicts, "Me?" He didn't shrug, simply pulled his goggles back over his eyes, "I'm just passin' through."

It took a little wandering but eventually he found Jack, or she found him, slipping up beside him, "Should I go for the sweet spot? Left of the spine, fourth lumbar down, the abdominal aorta. What a gusher…"

He turned and pushed his goggles up, studying her, slender curves, wild hair bound back in a braid, tendrils springing loose, big dark eyes and a lush mouth. Someone who didn't know her might get the mistaken impression of delicacy. She'd covered her lower arms, wrists and part of her hands with hide wraps, laced up with cord. Smart move; reinforce her wrists and protect the vulnerable veins and arteries. She'd likely had to be smart, had to be strong, to survive a slam, pretty as she was. She'd gone hard, brittle with it, and he could smell the pain in her.

"How do I get eyes like that?" She echoed the question asked of him more than five years ago.

"You gotta kill a few people," He responded with the same answer.

She nodded, a humorless chuckle escaping her lips, "Did that. Did a lot of that." He doubted anyone else would have noticed the small knife she held. He caught her before the hand could swing at him, slung her around so her back slammed against the bars. Impact enough that she dropped the shiv but not enough to seriously hurt her. He couldn't find it in him to hurt her.

He continued speaking as if their positions hadn't changed, "And then you gotta get sent to a slam."

He might have her pinned, but nothing stopped this woman's mouth. Not for long anyway, "One where they tell you you'll never see daylight again? Only there wasn't any doctor here who could shine my eyes, not even for menthol Kools." Her voice lowered, pained, and hard edged, "Was there anything you said that was true?" She struggled in his grip, "What are you gonna do, huh? Go for the sweet spot?"

He held her harder against the bars, "Remember who you're talkin' to, Jack." That ache in her tore at him, claws in his belly; he hadn't given a second thought to the lie he'd spun about his eyes. Never knew she actually believed him. Common knowledge that a prison shine job could leave you half blind, and you'd never see daylight again because it would blind you. Wasn't like inmates had access to the latest in medical procedures, getting the same smooth shine jobs as spec ops soldiers.

What she did next…impressed even him, as if she spun in her own skin, whirling around and forward with a miniature blade she had held in her mouth. That didn't keep her from talking either. "Jack's dead. She was weak. She couldn't cut it." She lashed out with the concealed blade, slashing at his cheek before he could draw back completely.

A small wound, barely more than a kiss, more to show she could hurt him than a true intent to injure, it wouldn't have made him lose his grip on her any more than her earlier struggles had. But he let her go. She'd only been afraid of him a few times, all of them justified. He wasn't going to make this one of those times.

She dropped to the ground and walked off, disappearing into the steam outside the cell, "The name's Kyra now." She vanished from his sight, but her voice lingered. "And I'm a new animal."

Well now he knew what River had meant when she'd talked about Jack and Kyra in the same breath. Fuck.

The residents of Crematoria, like any population isolated from the rest of the 'verse, were anxious for news of the galaxy. Rumors reached them even here and the rumors lately were not encouraging. The ghost army, the army from nowhere, dead planets… everyone was running scared, even if it was in their own heads. Last thing he wanted was to give them the bad news that they were right to run. Right to be scared. They couldn't do anything and neither could he. Not at the moment.

The one thing the prison had going for it, running water in the form of a geothermal heated river/hot spring. Had to pay attention to the temperature, it wouldn't do to boil himself (literally). But it felt good to scrub the sweat and grime from his skin. He could get clean and try to figure out what he was going to do about Jack.

Shirah and River had been fairly clear (fairly clear hell, they'd been damn near adamant) that he and Jack had to reconcile somehow. She'd have to forgive him, for leaving, and he guessed for what she considered his lies. If he'd known she actually believed the story he told everyone about his eyes he'd have enlightened her a long time ago. He'd had to come up with some way to explain them and a lie about an eye shine in prison made the most sense. Nobody knew how good his eyes were so nobody could prove the lie. Except for him.

And it seemed that he'd have to forgive her for something. Some choice she'd made that he likely would not approve of. So what was the absolute worst thing that she could have done? What would they think he'd consider unforgivable?

Mercs.

Just the thought made his stomach twist.

Jack knew that mercs were always on the hunt for him. Always trying to track him. If she'd started out trying to find him… She'd likely have figured mercs would be the best way to do it. Without any money to hire them, she would've tried to join up with a crew. If she'd found a decent group, they'd treat her like the team cleanup crew, dumping all the grunt work on her and teaching her little by little. Not wonderful but not too terrible either.

But there were very few decent merc clans out there. Most mercs took up the profession for the unofficial perks. Predators with the veneer of the law to protect them, contracts designed to take advantage of the green kids looking to join. And that would lead to nothing but bad things for her. He shook his head…Jack's luck had never been all that great. A runaway crashing on a hostile planet with a convict just before an eclipse brought out the monsters. Running into a merc plantation ship right after. Hell, if she didn't have bad luck she'd have no luck at all. She reminded him of Mal in that way.

The worst kind of clan… they'd take a kid like Jack and turn her into their personal whore. Likely sharing her out to anyone who'd pay them when they wanted some quick cash. He sighed shaking his head. And part of her likely felt it was his fault for leaving in the first place. He wasn't sure he entirely disagreed with her on that point.

Another part of him, the part that said look to thine own ass first, every man for himself… She'd made a decision, the wrong one, and she'd paid for it, the way everyone paid for their own mistakes. One way or another. It shouldn't matter that she was a kid at the time. Life didn't give anyone a break or a fair shake and if she didn't know that, then it had been past time she'd learned. Fuck, River had already learned that the hard way and you didn't see her blaming anyone but the bastards who'd hurt her for her troubles. He fucking hated whinging.

That voice…same voice that said to just gut Serenity's crew and take the ship. Or work with them for a while and then take off when he'd earned or stolen enough coin. The voice that said teaching River was a waste of time. That cynical side of himself that reminded him of every bad thing that had happened when he trusted or let people get too close. He couldn't both listen to that voice and rejoin the human race. The two seemed mutually exclusive.

Fuck.

So how in the hell was he going to deal with this? Joining mercs after she'd seen the likes of Johns and Chillingsworth… That was just idiotic. A stupidity worthy of a merc really. Or a really special kind of desperate… So…just how bad had it gotten?

And how was he going to fucking get past that? He'd treasured the idea that Jack was growing up safe, educated. That the Imam was watching out for her. It had been one of the things that kept him going because even he got tired of the running sometimes. Jack was supposed to get the life that he'd lost. That was why he'd left. It hadn't been like he wanted to leave her there. But if Jack would be better off he'd put aside his wants and go. And when mercs caught up with him and he'd ended up in a slam he'd been damn grateful Abu had talked him into leaving her. Nothing good would have come of mercs coming across him and Jack. He'd still end up in a slam and Jack right alongside him, or she'd be killed outright.

More and more he was getting irked with Abu. Jack had been a kid. Abu and Riddick had agreed that the best thing for Jack was that Riddick disappear and Abu raise her. Because of Riddick's influence, Abu had reasoned, Jack had killed Chillingsworth without remorse. Shot the woman down without blinking. And yeah, Riddick had found that more than a bit disturbing.

But Jack had been on her own before she'd met either of them, before she'd boarded the Hunter Gratzner. Who knows what she'd had to do in order to survive? Chillingsworth might not have been her first kill. They'd just assumed. Abu had assumed he knew best for her. But a regular normal kid, with a healthy safe childhood, wouldn't have found a convict fascinating or wanted eyes like his. Chances were she'd been on that transport for a good reason. Riddick had known that, deep down, and he'd hoped Abu would make sure Jack got help for whatever she'd been running from. Help to deal with the nightmares from that hell planet and Chillingsworth's boat. Help with whatever had driven her to take passage on the Hunter Gratzner in the first place.

Abu had said he would watch over her, raise her as if Jack was his own. How much had they clashed? How much religion had he tried to push down her throat? And how long had it taken before he'd met the beautiful and, from what he'd seen, judgmental Lajjun? A woman with no understanding of Jack's past. And likely no sympathy for her fascination and loyalty to Riddick. If he'd learned anything over the years, it was that women were territorial, and they didn't like to share. Lajjun had made her feelings about Riddick very clear. Jack would not have cared for that. Then Lajjun likely had made her feelings about Jack equally clear.

Abu loved the woman. She must have some redeeming qualities. But to a thirteen-year-old Jack… it was someone else taking a share of her guardian's attention. A beautiful woman who couldn't fail to make a teenage girl feel awkward and ugly. (The shaved head couldn't have helped with that either.) Someone who'd judge her wanting because of her loyalty to a man who'd saved her life, despite him being a convict.

Yeah that was a recipe for disaster.

And disaster had struck. If his theory held true, Jack had taken off and signed with mercs. Likely she'd killed a few of them after she'd had to deal with one too many atrocities. So, they'd thrown her in Crematoria. Mercs took a dim view of someone killing one of their own, even if their own was scum. He doubted she'd even gotten a sham of a trial before they'd dumped her in the triple max slam.

She'd been a kid. He had to take that into account. A kid who'd been abandoned, or so she thought, by the one person who'd protected her. Likely the only person she thought actually cared about her. He'd learned, watching Abu while they'd traveled together, that the man was not overly demonstrative. Jack needed someone who would at least put an arm around her. Give her paternal or maternal affection.

No wonder she was pissed with him. She didn't even get her eyeshine out of the whole mess. He half smiled, maybe if they survived the Necromongers and they got back to Serenity Simon could help out with that. Jack wasn't Furyan but there were ways to augment humans and Simon was smart enough, and a good enough guy, that he'd help Jack out. He'd probably know a way to shine her eyes that didn't make her half blind in the sun or lose sight of colors.

So first he needed to talk to Jack. Maybe sweeten her up by sharing his plan for escape. He couldn't keep treating her like a kid, even if she was his little sister. And he couldn't blame her for doing something he considered heinous when she'd been let down by every adult around her. Including him.

Signing with mercs… ultimately stupid but forgivable considering they hadn't really talked about mercenaries and their filthy habits. Chillingsworth might have been a sociopath but she'd been a clean one at least. She'd frozen and displayed her bounties but he'd seen nothing to indicate she slaved them out. He'd never even told her what Johns had intended for her on that planet. And she'd been a kid. His baby sister who'd been abandoned and desperate to find him again.

"Cào nǐ zǔ zōng shí bā dài," He borrowed one of Mal's favorite curses. (Might as well practice while he could.) If he could forgive Abu telling the Elemental about him and the subsequent price on his head enough to keep him alive (and get revenge on the Necro that'd hurt him) then why couldn't he forgive Jack her childish idiocy?

Hell, he'd already forgiven her, bending over backwards in his mind to justify what she'd done. He was going soft. Maybe that had started when he'd taken up Carolyn's challenge to rejoin the human race. And completed when he'd decided to train a damaged Seer rather than ignore her troubles. To get involved with Serenity and its crew and take an apprentice rather than listen to that cynical voice in his head.

Time to stop messing around with hot water and do something about his little sister.

As if the thought had conjured her he saw Jack, Kyra, whatever she wanted to be called, watching him from a walkway across the river. She was messing with something metallic in her hands, watching him with dark eyes.

Snagging his goggles off the outcropping he'd hung them on he started towards her.

Author's Note: So here's another change… maybe not a huge one but Riddick spending time on Serenity gave him some insight to familial relationships. He's seen Mal being somewhat paternal, Simon as River's big brother, and he's rejoined the human race enough that he's thinking a situation over from someone else's perspective instead of just his own. I have no doubt he has put himself in someone else's shoes before, how else to predict which way they'd jump or how he could take advantage when they did.

Now though, we've got Riddick thinking over Jack's decisions and realizing that she might be an adult now, but she wasn't back then. And he's making allowances for that. It might not seem like much at the moment. Think of it as the butterfly effect.

Chinese Translations:

Lóng Wáng (Dragon King (mythology))

Cào nǐ zǔ zōng shí bā dài (fuck your ancestors to the eighteenth generation)

Quote Sources:

Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace to look through and behind this mask of me (Against which years have beat thus blanchingly with their rains), and behold my soul's true face, the dim and weary witness of life's race. – Sonnet 39 – Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Because thou hast the faith and love to see, through that same soul's distracting lethargy, the patient angel waiting for a place in the new Heavens,-because nor sin nor woe, nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood, nor all which others viewing, turn to go, nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,-nothing repels thee. – Sonnet 39 – Elizabeth Barrett Browning

He who increases knowledge increases sorrow – Ecclesiastes 1:18

All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others – Animal Farm – George Orwell