1 Section 7: The Lower Level Again



Two long weeks later, after 14 days of uncomfortable silences and few words spoken, Elise gathers up what courage she can find to go down to the engine room to visit with Brock. She's spent the last few weeks searching through the files on her criminal law IMC's for some clue as to who he is. She looked for criminals whose initials were R.R., but there were thousands to choose from. Then she researched the type of criminal that would be given a "shine-job". Most were high profile convicts that were sentenced to serve more than half their lives in a joint where daylight is God. The friend of your friends' cousin has seen it, but no one you know actually saw it. This narrowed her search to about ¼ what it was, but that still left some 2,000 possibilities. Pictures weren't given, and profiles were severely limited. She'd studied different criminals profiles for half of her life, and knew thousands from living with them. He fit none, and then he fit all.

She was extremely distressed. She just knew he was a criminal, why else would her have asked her those questions when she was in the Engine Room with him? Why else would he have light sensitive eyes? Why else would he have attacked her? Then again, why did he act so nice to her before that? Why would he take Manny's gun away from him? Whoa, whoa, whoa. What was she thinking? He also went into her room, went through her stuff, and took her bag. The man was fucked up and she was making up excuses for him? No, she had to go set things straight with him before the first stop.

She got down on her stomach. "Brock? Brock!" She yelled down into the sallow light of the engine room. Then more to herself, "Where in the hell are you?"

"Right here." His head popped into view below her. She noticed how much he looked like a bug with his black goggles on. She even cracked a smile at the thought. "I didn't think you'd ever be happy to see me." Instead of responding she dropped down a latched folder to him. He reached out to grab it. His whole body came into view then. He was wearing an army green muscle tank and black pants. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his muscles gleamed with it, she supposed it was from the torch. She watched as he opened the folder and flipped through some of the papers. He closed it, but continued to stare at the folder without saying anything.

"Well?"

"Well what? Why would you want to get yourself mixed up in something like this?" He didn't seem angry, but his voice almost sounded sorry.

"Because I never leave without facing my closet monster." He finally looked up at her. He gave one of his meditated exhales that flared his nostrils. For reasons she couldn't understand, this simple act of impatience made her squirm. She pursed her lips and looked away. "Are you going to invite me down, or do I have to continue getting dizzy from a head rush?"

The corners of his lips twitched just enough for her to see them before he turned away out of view. His voice echoed up to her though, "Stay there, it might help." A bellowing laughter followed. Elise gave a small giggle. At least he wasn't angry, that continued to be a good thing.

Looking around, Elise saw that he had been as busy as her the last few weeks cleaning up the mess down there. She also saw that this was where he slept. His bed, or cot, was set up in the corner with an uncovered light bulb installed over the head. He had several books spilled across the floor, and the corner of a notepad peeked out from under his lumpy pillow. Brock followed her gaze to his "living quarters", and he instinctively began kicking the books under the bed with his heel. She guessed he didn't want anyone knowing he was a bookworm. She didn't see why it was embarrassing though. What else was there to do while spending weeks in space? At the foot of his bed was a card table with one chair sticking lopsided out from the table.

He walked over to the table and moved an ashtray filled with old cigarette butts out of the way before throwing the folder down. He pulled the chair out and sat down, legs splayed, his expression impassive. His eyes searched the cover of the folder, not really seeing it, and incessantly chewed his lower lip. Not knowing what else to do, she hopped onto the end of his bed and sat Indian style so that she was sitting to the adjacent side of him. Her eyes flicked impatiently from the folder to his face and back again. Finally she reached out to flip the folder open, but his own hand came out from under the table and landed on hers. He picked her hand up and paused with it in mid air, he was gentle, there was no harshness in his actions. Then he released it and brought the folder closer to himself.

"I-these are just some of the things I've been researching…to no avail. If you'd just tell me the truth, right now, then I wouldn't need bother, and I wouldn't feel wrong about leaving the ship at the next stop."

"And what if I don't? What if, instead, I toss this into the garbage disposal and watch as it rips it to shreds?"

"That wouldn't do a hell of a lot since I have it all saved. Besides, if you're not guilty of anything, then there's no probl-" He sat forward suddenly, seizing her arm and yanking her forward so that their faces almost clashed.

"You're going to get off this beast for one reason or another, so why would I tell you…anything?" His lips hardly moved, but the smooth, no nonsense rise and fall of his voice said everything he didn't.

She tried pulling her arm away, but his grip was like steel on her thin arm. Up that close to him she could see through his shades into his eyes. They were still, unblinking. She could see the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth together. She felt disgusted. "What are you? Some sort of schizo? One minute your making jokes and acting all cool…the next you're some psycho who's got murder in his eyes! You're like some chick with major PMS!"

He tilted his head and parted his lips like he was about to crack up. Instead he pursed his lips and let go of her. "What do you want to know?"

"Are you, or were you a…a convict?"

"Yes."

"To which one?"

"I was."

"Is that where you got the shine-job?"

He pulled off the shades and began fiddling with them. "Yes."

She swiped nervously at her hair, which had fallen once again into her face. She licked her lips, they had suddenly gone dry. "Don't you have to kill people to get sent to a prison where those procedures are done?" He stopped playing with them and looked sharply at her, but he didn't answer. "If you did kill people, you would have gotten a lot longer of a sentence than you obviously did, so what could you have done to be sent there, but only for such a short time."

"Half my life is not short."

"It's short compared to what you would have gotten, or should have gotten if you killed people."

"So what are you going to do now that you know?" He didn't enjoy the direction that conversation was going.

"What did you do Brock?"

His pulled his eyes from the goggles to the wall across the table. "Nothing that could affect you. Are you getting off at the next stop or aren't you?"

She hesitated for a few seconds, pondering what that answer could mean. "If you promise to stop surprise attacking me, then I'll stay. After all, Bisham Tech. would be awfully pissed if I just didn't show up, but if you don't think you can do that, then I'm just going to have to hitch a ride back with someone else." She waited to see if he would respond. He didn't, so she went on. "If I'm mistaken, the last time I came down here and you hog tied me, you didn't really mean to do it. Now, usually that's not an excuse, but in your case you restrained yourself before anything really happened."

Brock thought it was incredibly noble of her to try and see his side of it, but he knew she had it all wrong. "Do you really think I wouldn't of done it, had you been shaking with fear? You got it all wrong girlie, I would have killed you. All I needed was one hint of fear, the smell of nervous sweat coming off you."

"Would you still kill me? If we were in that same situation again, would you forget what happened the first time and go right for it?" Her fingers were digging into her kneecaps, anger was building up silently, it was difficult to keep the resentment out of her voice.

Something about her "no fear" way of speaking to him amused him. She could almost be cocky if she wasn't so serious. "I have the feeling you'd be a little more prepared for my attack if I did it again. I also think that if I hadn't caught you off guard you might have been able to deflect me."

"I might, but we're talking about you here, not me."

"No, no, let's talk about this." He felt a small twinge of pleasure at seeing her squirm. "Where did you learn to do what you did to Manny? Guerilla tactics are only taught in the military nowadays. But then, it's funny because even military men have fear their first time they're sent to do combat. You knew I was armed and that you weren't, but there still was no fear. Does this mean it's happened before?"

"No one ever said I was trained to do anything."

"But you were."

"What's your point?!"

"I want to know where, why, and how much experience you have Elise! Tell me, did it feel good beating them?" A little more heated, and he suspected she might end up attacking him.

"Only a sick fuck like you would get off on that!" She jumped down off the bed and made to go to the ladder leading up, but she stopped and turned back around. It took all of her will power not to back out of the conversation. "I was trained because I lived on a ship where there were criminals traveling with us at all times. They trained us to deal with them by using any means necessary." She paused enough to let herself calm down. Tears had sprung to her eyes and her voice became scratchy. "There were frequent attacks, one in particular when I was younger that taught me about fear. No, I didn't enjoy hurting them, or wounding them, or beating them to a pulp, but I wasn't against it, not when I knew they enjoyed doing that to others."

Brock was surprised at how vulnerable she acted when she talked about her past. He was more startled by the way she made him feel than anything. He didn't see her weakness, he saw something he wanted to protect. "Why do you cry over something you had no control over?"

"I'm not crying. I'm just remembering." She went and sat down on the edge of the bed.

He nodded in agreement without really understanding. "And your parents, they let you live in such a dangerous place?"

"I was an orphan. Whether or not they're actually dead is unknown, but I know I spent the first 7 years of my life in an orphanage ship. It was really nice I remember, but when you turn 8 they send you to an orphanage/prisoner transport/work ship. As soon as I got there they started training me to defend myself against the prisoners. Soon they put me to work with them and you begin learning muscle and mind control. In between work and training we went to what classes we could. They noticed I was especially good in science and math, and that my vision was perfect, so they taught me how to fly. If I hadn't befriended one of the teachers there, they would have had me take the position of pilot on that ship eventually, when that pilot got too old. The teacher got me out of there though, and so then I was sent to live with foster parents. That was the last place I was at before here." She stopped for a minute, and began smoothing out the blankets on the bed. "It's not a very sad story, after all, I'm still alive aren't I?" She finally looked up at Brock. Seeing the vague, amazed look on his face made her smile. Anything other than the hard, unreadable look he usually wore was enough to make her happy.

He liked her smile…it was sad and happy at the same time. Inviting and then mysterious. Her eyes would squint up and little, miniscule creases would form at the corners of her eyes. "Was it weird having parents after not having any for so long?" He was curious. He himself had never had the opportunity to see for himself. His adolescence had been spent in the cool prison-like resemblance of orphanages.

"I wouldn't know, they didn't act like parents were supposed to act at all. They owned their own little shop, and I had to work there to earn money for clothes and my share of food. They refused to buy me anything I didn't earn. Really I was just a payday. They got monthly checks from the government for taking me under their wings. Since I didn't cost anything, they were making money off me. I basically ran the business single handedly for 2 years. They threatened to take away my schooling privileges the first year I lived with them, if I didn't work as much as they wanted me too. The second year I was finished with school, so I worked there saving more money for college."

"If you're 19 now, 2 years ago would mean you were 17 when you came to them. How come you didn't just leave?" He was waiting to see if she would answer truthfully or if she would lie about her age. He expected her to lie, but he thought he'd give her the chance to prove it.

"I'm 17. The teacher lied cause no one wanted a 14-year-old girl. They wanted a male, a younger child, or an older child. She changed the papers to say that I was 16 already."

He couldn't understand why she was so willing to tell him everything. "That must have been hard to catch up on two missed years of schooling. Wait, aren't you going to Bisham cause you're the top of your class or somethin'?"

"Schooling has gone to hell on that planet. Up on the ship there weren't as many kids, so the classes were smaller and more direct, and the schooling standards are from 20, 30 years ago. Down on land, there were some 50 or 60 kids in each class. The teachers just threw out the information and left it there to sit on the kids' minds. The brighter of the bunch would transfer that information into useful knowledge, and make the grades. From my lessons on the craft, I was able to make sense of what the teachers said and becoming the top of my class was no problem." To say it felt good, to be able to say it to someone else felt even better. "What about you? Are you trying to tell me that you had a normal childhood and then grew up to be some ex-con?"

There it was, the reason why she told him as much as she did. "I was orphaned too. They found me in a liquor store trash bin, the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. My life, well, it went down from there."

"Where did you learn "guerilla tactics", as you call them?" She began picking up some of the books he missed when kicking them under the bed.

"The military. I was the only one who made it out alive during one mission, and they through me in prison for desertion. It's true, but I would be dead, just like them, if I had stayed."

Most of the books were fantasy, to her relief. She didn't know what she expected. Bomb Making 101, perhaps or something that screamed psychopath! maybe. "Not the same prison where you got those," she motioned to his eyes, "right?"

"Right. Ever heard of Dose Dia?"

"Yeah, mainly small time."

"Yeah, well that's where I met Manny. His sentence was much shorter though." She noticed the far away look in his eyes. Jesus, how long was he in there for anyways?

Her flesh crawled with the mention of Manny's name. "Do you mind if I ask you about Manny?"

"Depends what you ask."

"Well, what's his problem? I mean, instead of just hitting on me like a normal person, or slipping my hand into his, he grabs it when the light goes out. And then when I react a little differently than he expected, he gets angry and attacks me when I get into my room that night. Is that the usual I can expect from him? What if I correct him on his grammar or something, should I just assume he'll whip out his gun on me?"

Riddick was amused by her honesty. He hated playing games. "You're young, he likes them that way. I'll bet, that he assumed you were playing hard to get when you didn't reciprocate his feelings openly. As far as trying to attack you again, he might think twice about it. Even when he was at the vantage point you overcame him. He's scared, not stupid." Oddly enough, Riddick didn't want to talk about Manny. He wanted to hear more about her. The other passengers didn't have anything interesting to say, and they had lived more than twice as long as her. She on the other hand, had plenty of interesting things to say. He let what he had said sink in before going on. "He used to be into drugs, but I wanted to keep a clean ship, so he doesn't do them anymore. That was why he was in Dose Dia to begin with, they said he was dealing, but that was a lie. Anyways, I witnessed him going cold turkey in there; it wasn't much different here. Unfortunately, he resents me for it. In the slam it's possible to get relatively small amounts of drugs into your possession if you know the right people. Up here, in space, there's no one." That too, he let sink in.

"So what you're trying to say is that his minds gone a little haywire from the massive withdrawal."

"Exactly. They told me you were 19, so if Manny tried anything there wouldn't be as many problems. Then you turned out to be younger. Sometimes I think he's got some sort of radar than can detect a girl under the legal age. You were sending out a clear signal."

She scoffed indifferently and slid into a lying position, her leather booted feet hanging off the side of the bed. "There would still be problems if I pressed charges for attempted assault, but I get what you're saying. It wouldn't be statutory rape if he had sex with me."

He nodded his head slowly, thinking. "Would you have allowed him to have sex with you if he hadn't freaked you out?"

"That's not even a liable question. Just the way he looked at me gave me chills. You all are too old for me anyways. I'd have had to get to really know him before I would let him do anything more than make out with me." A short laugh escaped her lips. How could she tell him so much? She'd never been much good at introspect though, so she let it slide. She looked over to see what Brock was up to. He had gotten up and was digging through a bag on the floor. His back was to her, but she could here him pull out something, shake it, and then put it back. He walked over to where she was laying and put out his hand. In it was a cigarette. "No thanks mi amigo. I don't smoke."

It was his turn to scoff. He returned to his seat at his table, putting one of the cigarettes in his mouth and placing the other one by the ashtray. He lit it and inhaled deeply. The smoke rose in small, delicate curly cues.

"Umm…is Manny going to stay on the craft for the entire 4 months?" She tried to be casual about it, but she could tell she was doing a bad job.

"He has to. I've never tried passing through that weird stretch that surrounds the planet. He's done it lots of times, so he knows where the best entrances are."

"Oh, right. Ok then, I think I'm going to go have some lunch or something. You want?"

"I have some more work to do down here first."

"Ok, bye."

"I'll see you at two for your lesson then?"

"Yeah, I guess you will."



-Hey Everybody! Thanx for reading my story. This is my first fanfic and I'm pretty nervous about it. More coming soon. Please review and give me some pointers!