Author's Note: I do not own Riddick, more's the pity. I did not create Slam, merely this interpretation of it. I did not have any hand in the creation of Pitch Black. I did however create Spook, and the other characters not seen in Pitch Black.
It was strange to be in the cell block after so long of trying to be anywhere but. She carefully moved down the halls, stiff, eyes wide, watching the looming pitchy forms of the doorless cell entrances, listening to the catcalls of the men within as she passed. They tossed their lewd words at her, their suggestions for her, their anatomical inquiries, impossibilities. None came out to harry her, however.
She was Riddick's Bitch, after all. She was his little gofer girl, his amusement, and he reacted quite harshly should anyone damage what he claimed as his property.
In her arms, held to her chest, were the blankets and clothes she'd taken and washed. The coarse material was nearly dry, and she had enjoyed the chance to curl up and read while she'd been waiting for them to get to that state. After all, Riddick had given her a gift. He had found a pale, coverless copy of Peter and Wendy. He'd left it sitting on the pair of cots that filled the side of the small cell that they shared. She had finished it that day. Twice.
The small smile touched her mouth again as she remembered the way he had watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her to find the present. He had nearly smiled, and that odd look alerted her that something was new, and she found the little book sitting on her thin pillow.
But today he didn't look up when she entered, staring intently at the scrap of paper in his hands, a scowl darkening his face. She set the blankets on the bed, moved beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder for a silent moment before he swatted it away in irritation.
"Go read, Spook. Got other shit to worry about." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, eyes still fixed on the paper. She hovered there for a moment, then moved away, reached beside of the bed to her books, slipped into the back corner of the cots, taking the battered Odyssey with her. She sat, the book on her drawn up knees, watching him scowl in the low light.
It was that very scowl that had so often terrified her about him, making her fear him when he'd first decided that she should stay near him. His brows lowered over the brooding, mercurial eyes. The cold mouth warped into a dark snarling line. It was how she remembered the clouds looking in the deadly thunderstorms she saw in her days in the sun.
And then she set down her book, flopping over the cot, groping under it for a moment. Her hand closed on a small metal box lashed on the underside of the wire support weave. It detached with a few deft movements of her hands, the strips of cloth hanging as she pulled the box into the light.
Open, it revealed tobacco rolled in paper.
Menthol Cools.
She carefully shifted them around with her fingertip. Her lips moved in silent counting. Then, her hand shifted, reaching to the small of her back, where she pulled two more cigarettes from the waistband of her pants.
"Twenty Three. Do we try to bargain yet?"
He actually turned to look at her from the corner of his eye. "You've managed to collect twenty three?" There was a hint of surprise in his deep rumble.
She nodded. "They're not as careful in checking the dead as they could be... They're still valuable even if they have blood on them, right boss?"
Riddick only grunted. His eyes moved back to the paper without a word to her question.
Spook lashed the box back in its
place, then retreated again to pick up her book, once more settling it on
her knees. Open, the adventure of the poor men before her, she could get
lost in the ancient writings. Instead she stared blankly at the prose.
The guard, they told her, was
in critical condition. He couldn't breathe on his own, only with the help
of machines. There was no registering of brainwaves with the computer monitoring
him. They stood around her, a loose ring, fifteen of them.
The transport was waiting. That
same officer, the one who had taken her from her parents, her home, was
there. He reached out one hand to her, a gentle smile on his face.
"I'm so sorry, child." He took
her hand. He pulled her into a hug.
Something cold, metal, clicked
into place around her throat.
They had decided that she was
Dangerous. Like a mad dog, she would be dealt with. That collar told her
everything. She could no longer feel the presence of the men around her.
She could no longer hear the low murmur of their minds.
She yanked herself back from
him, clawing at the ring of metal. Her eyes flitted from one uncaring face
to the next.
The ring wouldn't come off.
"All right, boys. She's been
neutralized. She's ready for transport to her new home." Kiran struggled
only a little as two of the men grabbed her by her upper arms, half dragging
her to the transport.
It was a large metal beast,
about the size of the old earth vans, with no windows except for the ones
where the guards and driver sat. The back opened, a short ramp descending
to the ground. The men pushed her up it, sending her sprawling into the
cramped compartment inside.
"Enjoy the ride," came one cruel
voice. "And get used to the dark. You'll see a lot of it where you're heading."
Then the doors enclosed her in inky black.
Cold metal under her hands as she pushed herself up. She felt her way towards the wall, then to a corner, settling herself there, shaking.
Riddick glanced back to where Spook curled in the corner. She had that look again, that glazed, stare, where she was gazing intently at the pages before her but not seeing them. Even her blinking seemed to stop when she got that look.
She was remembering.
He shook his head.
It could be a while before she remembered that the present was happening around her.
She was always getting lost in
her thoughts. One wouldn't think that someone so young, even having done
something to find herself in Slam would have so much cluttering the insides
of their head as to actually get lost inside. Such an odd girl.
But if she really is what she
claims... Riddick looked her over again, eyes lingering on the metal
a round her throat...
...Invaluable.