Things weren't going well at all… Breathing hard, we had just ran inside the questionable protection of the small cave, slamming our backs into the far wall as we waited for one of those things to find us, follow us in, anything. I glanced briefly at Imam in what remained of our flickering light. His eyes were red and swollen from weeping. All his 'children' were gone now, but I couldn't bring myself to feel anything but thankful that I was still alive, at least for the moment. Sounds of scratching and light mournful echoes drew my attention once more to the cave entrance. In a sickening rush of wind and leathery wings I felt one of the creatures graze past me as it leapt on Imam. His scream of terror became a strangled gurgle as his lungs filled with warm, salty blood. I can't move! Why couldn't I move? Why isn't the wretched beast afraid of our single pathetic remaining light? Feet frozen, I could only gaze in horror on the scene of the beast feasting on the body of Imam. My stomach dropped into hell as, slowly, the animal stopped its feeding and turned its massive head my direction, revealing not grisly teeth and powerful jaws, but the beloved face of my Papa, Imam's blood dripping from his lips…
Riddick is shaking me by the shoulders, hard, and it feels like he's probably been doing it for some time now. There's a residual sound in my ears which I abruptly realize, with shame, is probably the echo of my screams. "I'm awake," I gasp hoarsely. "It's o.k., I'm awake now." His hands don't leave my shoulders. They're still shaking me slightly. He only releases me when I move, struggling into a sitting position against the bulkhead. Even then he assumes a protective position, on one knee in front of me, his hand on my thigh.
"Sorry… Thanks for waking me… sorry…" Imam comes and hovers over us worriedly.
"Are you certain you are all right, child?"
I again feel a wash of shame at the thought that my stupid dreams and my stupid screams might have made Imam relive… something. Our current situation was bad enough, I didn't have to go and make things worse by being a baby.
"Yes, really, Imam. I'm fine now. Thanks…" He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he retreats into his corner with his beads, picking up his never ending cycle of prayer once more.
Turning my attention to Riddick, I'm only a little surprised to see how close his face is to mine. He's the type of person who tends to disregard personal space; it really takes some getting used to. "You want a drink of water, kid?"
"No, no. We have to save that. I'm not that thirsty anyway." Cottonmouth city here, people!
He grinned toothily. "Liar."
Getting up with one silent, smooth motion, Riddick went to get some water for me. Precious water. Almost none left water. Everyone's thirsty as hell water. Guilt, guilt, guilt water. Damn.
Returning, he put a small half-filled cup into my hands, gently forcing my fingers to curl around it. If it wouldn't have only increased my feelings of guilt, I would have thrown it in his face. "Drink," he commanded.
"I said I wasn't thirsty." I mumbled. He just stood above me, arms folded, looming and immobile like some dark Norse god. I took a sip. Then I noticed the blood.
"You stupid bastard." I said in half shock. "Didn't I tell you not to be moving around much until the wound had a chance to knit a little?! Sit the hell down! NOW!"
With an amused look, he complied, sitting beside me against the bulkhead and stretching his bandaged leg out in front of him. He leaned back, shoulder brushing mine, and closed his eyes, giving me a chance for a moment to observe him closely; still pale, tightness around the mouth and eyes the only outward sign of his weariness and pain. I sighed and took another sip of water. We were going to fuckin' die out here.
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It had been four days since we escaped what we on the skiff now termed "that fuckin' planet." Riddick had settled us into orbit around another planet in the system so we could try and figure out where the hell we were. Took him a full days worth of thinking and calculating and cussing, but he eventually came up with coordinates placing us smack dab in the center of the Epsilon Quadrant. In generic terms that means smack dab in the middle of fuckin' nowheresville. Seriously. There were no fully inhabited planets anywhere near us. Maybe a couple small colonies chock full of religious cult members (the kind that even scare Imam), but that was about it. Zip, nada, not even a regular shipping lane coming through. In short, we were screwed. We were broadcasting an emergency beacon, but the possibility of anyone actually tripping across it in space was slim to say the least.
To make matters worse, the skiff's life support systems were on the fritz. The skiff's hydro processor absolutely refused to produce water, and the air filters were operating at only 45% capacity. Let's not forget to mention that the skiff was designed to comfortably sustain only two people, period, for perhaps a week, and that was stretching it. We were living with half a lung or less. The food reserves were old, tasteless, and barely nutritious, but we were extremely grateful to have them and the small moisture they provided. Imam and I were also pathetically thankful that Riddick had the paranoid foresight to bring a small supply of water aboard. We would already have been dead without it.
Conditions on the skiff were.... unique. Complete and total lack of privacy for even the most intimate and personal of acts was unnerving to say the least. Embarrassment was something everyone had to take and stuff deep down within themselves. We couldn't afford social niceties like modesty by this point; after the shit that went down on the planet, it wasn't entirely too difficult an adjustment. A gentle aversion of eyes could do a lot to make someone else feel more comfortable. By someone, I mean Imam and myself. Riddick didn't seem to have a modest cell in his body, bless him.
After pulling a typical stoneface and breaking the bad news about our location, we had what I jokingly refer to our 'family meeting.' We basically came up with 3 options, none of them great.
"We can stay here and hope for a rescue." Imam clearly had faith in God. I envy that man.
"It will take two weeks or more for our beacon signal to even reach populated space. We all won't be able to make it that long." I knew what Riddick was thinking, at least I thought I did... he could survive that long, but the rest of us wouldn't.
"Why don't we try to reach a colony, a planet, somewhere where we can restock and at least breathe?" Sure, I had no clue how long it would take to get anywhere fitting that description, but I sure as hell didn't want to wait around for an unlikely rescue party.
"We could go back to the planet." He didn't look at us after he said it, he looked at his hands resting in his lap. He had said it with such finality, as if it was our only option. Was he telling us that it was our only way out, to live, to survive? Oh god....
"No." Imam was quietly firm. "I shall never return to that place."
"We might not have a choice, holy man! I'm not about to fuckin' die here just because you and the kid don't wanna take a chance on that place. Listen, according to my calculations, the eclipse ends in 2 days. We could skim down there, load up on water, maybe find some food supplies left behind by those geologists...."
"That is not an option, Riddick! Even if it means certain death, I refuse to return to that planet!"
Riddick and I both stared at Imam. Bleary eyed and feverish with thirst and strain, emotion radiated from his body, from every pore. He meant it, and we weren't about to push the issue. I took a deep breath.
"Well I don't think we stand a chance in hell if we stay here." I looked at Riddick questioningly. "So, can we reach another planet in time or should I just start carving what I want on my tombstone on the inside hull?"
Riddick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and taking off his goggles as he rubbed a hand tiredly along the back of his head and neck. "Maybe. If we left 2 hours ago."
"So what are we waiting for, let's leave! I'd rather die trying to get somewhere the sitting here waiting for the reaper to come! Let's go!"
Riddick plotted a course and then joined Imam and me at the rear of the cabin. We had come to the silent agreement that the only real way to conserve both air and water was to remain as inactive as possible. Considering the size of the skiff, that wasn't very hard. Shit, I couldn't turn over without bumping into someone. It was just as well though. With power being diverted to both the drive and essential life support, our small compartment started getting colder. Not cold, but not comfortable either. I figure I was the lucky one, loosely sandwiched between Imam and Riddick We slept, Imam prayed, Riddick and I talked the nonsensical talk of two people who don't really want to talk about anything important, but had nothing better to do. During those long, long days I discovered that Riddick's favorite color when he could see normally was red (big surprise, eh?), he's fond of Thai food, hates team sports but likes to watch Earth hockey, has killed 23 people in 7 different ways, prefers no underwear to either boxers or briefs, and is wide awake during cryosleep. Spooky. I've told him why I hate blondes with pouty lips, the name of my first pet (a snail named Mo I kept for 2 whole weeks in a box before he died), where I was born, and that I spit in Paris' water during our little group meeting/celebration back on the planet. I even told him about the first time I french-kissed someone; some dark, smoothly lanky young kid who played his guitar on streetcorners in New Greece for pleasure, not money. We had walked along a river together one of those quiet, lazy afternoons when even the air seems languid, holding hands sticky from stolen candy and summer heat. When he kissed me, he tasted of watercress and peppermint; to this day the smell of mint makes me sick. We whispered these minor confessions to each other for hours beneath the drone of Imam's worship. Even Riddick's unique voice becomes annoying when you can't escape it. I started fantasizing about a nice, cozy cryochamber. Eventually, the pauses in conversation stretched out and we slept. Trouble is, I dream.
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So here I sit, holding my precious bit of water and listening to Riddick's even breathing beside me. A glance at the console tells me that there are still 26.8 hours remaining before we arrive... where was it Riddick had said? Some small colony of cultists who worshiped an ancient Terran god of some sort... Shit, I don't care if they bow down to a radish on a pedestal as long as they're of the friendly sort. Papa always said that religion was personal thing, and not to be mocked no matter what we think about it; I tend to agree with him.
Riddick shifted in his sleep, sliding slowly down the side of the hull and rolling forward and down until he came to a stop with his head firmly in my lap. I swear he does this shit on purpose, asleep or no. With a sigh, I set the cup on the floor beside me and let my hands gently rest on the back of Riddick's neck, starting a slow massage that traveled a bit down his spine and shoulder. After a bit, he rolled over, and looked at me from my lap, eyes expressionless and virtually unreadable, but not harsh.
"So," he lifted his far arm and stretched it casually over his head,
"who's this Papa?"