Well, it all takes place between PB and TCOR. I relied only on the information given in these two movies and their subsequent novelizations, and inconsistencies with any other media pertaining to Riddick's world is unfortunate, but will not be amended. This is an action/adventure fic. It does include a love story of sorts, but not romance. I am attempting to explain the jump from infatuated preteen Jack to scorned woman Kyra, as well as how Riddick became so attached to the idea of her; preserving her and such. Also, I felt the need to tie the outer events of PB and TCOR together, and you'll see what I mean by that later... I don't really feel the need for the discretionary release of responsibility,i.e.,You can tell what's mine and what's not, other wise I don't think you'd be reading this. For fans by fans, after all.

With out further ado: Chapter One


"Hey, Johns?" she called from across shuttle bay 3, "What do you want me to do with these broken lamps?"

"Toss 'em," he advised, his expression and tone both indifferent. Though his voice was low and gruff, it smoothly sailed across the distance to her ears.

"Yeah, all right," she acknowledged with a nod, hefting the large, damaged mechanisms over her shoulder. Her small form sagged beneath the weight, but she was never one to complain. She left the bay, headed for the disposal shoot, with her head held high.

"You shouldn't treat her like that," Imam whispered chidingly over his shoulder.

He gave the holy man a stern glance, "It's good for his image," he punctuated.

If Imam was chilled by the liquid eyes, he didn't show it. "It is not proper."

"Don't talk to me about 'proper'," he warned, "We don't live in a world where there is any 'proper'."

He let him be. Imam hadn't known the imposing man for very long, but he knew enough to realize that now was not the time to talk principles. There had been time on the dark planet to discuss the workings of God, but now that the immediate danger had past, 'Johns' would have none of it.

Johns glanced ruefully at the police badge pinned to his chest. He had an overwhelming urge to rip it away and chuck it into deep space with the rest of the trash. He knew he wouldn't do it, no matter how much he fantasized about it, so he went back to his stock work. They needed to hose in at least another weeks worth of cryo-juice and replace three of the engine coolant packs before they could hit the road again. The road to New Mecca. He scoffed silently to himself.

He made sure the nozzle of the hose was securely screwed to the lip of the receiving tank. Finding no problems there, he decided to take a break. Maybe get a little bit of real sleep, the kind that doesn't freeze your bones and turn your mind to mush. He noticed Imam kneeling on a makeshift prayer mat, preparing to give more thanks. Leaving him in peace, he stalked off to the space station guest quarters they'd been assigned to.

When he arrived he sprinted to the bathroom. There he turned on the faucet and stuck his stubbled head into the stream of frigid water. His fingers worked over his scull methodically, as if trying to message away the section of his mind that was making him help them. The old him was dead, and a part of him mourned the loss. It would be so easy to make up an extra problem with the craft, tell Imam they couldn't lift off until he took care of it, then while he and the girl were sleeping take off on his own. That was even more civilized than what the old him would do. The old him would have cut them open and jettisoned the bodies long before reaching the old Sigra 2 space station. After all, they were no real help to him, all they did was compromise his safety.

After a few minutes he groped around blindly for a towel. Finding one had been inexplicably set right next to him, he stood up straight, using the mirror above the sink to look behind him. There she was, sitting on the opposite counter, watching him. He dabbed his face with the clean cloth, then exited. She didn't look hurt by the lack of acknowledgment, and jumped from her perch to follow him.

"Lights down," he commanded the computer, his voice deep and resonating. When they had been struck to half-natural, he pulled the goggles resting on his forehead completely off. Striding to the bed, he threw them on the night stand and sat down. He propped his elbows on his knees, which were slightly knocked apart, and slouched stiffly.

Jack shuffled over to the corner of the mattress, flicking her fingers over the comforter shyly. His predatory eyes rounded on her, his expression stony, waiting for her to explain herself.

"I dumped the shit down the shoot," she said happily, all girlishness gone, like a boy who's built his first working engine. She scratched her bear head, eager to please.

Flopping onto his back and closing his eyes with a soft internal sigh, he left her answerless in her suspense. She moved next to him. "Riddick?"

"Hmm?" he growled.

"Where do we go after we drop Imam on Helion?"

This kid made him shiver like no merc ever could. She was a leech; a leech that would suck him dry before his prime, one that would latch on until the end of the universe if she could, one that he would feel responsible for until the day it was his sweet spot some one punctured and drained out. Damn arteries, always attached to a heart.

"I was thinking I might hang around for a while, take in the sights," he said silkily.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's cool," she nodded her head furiously. Playing with the edge of the night stand absently, she bit her lip, calculating. Things had to be said carefully around Riddick. "When... When do we break for it again?"

"Give it about three hours. Enough time for those coolants to be delivered, and for me to get some sound shut eye." He hoped she'd take the hint.

"Right. 'Kay." She tuned tail and left him, strolling unconcernedly from the quarters. Once the automated doors clicked into place behind her she gasped, throwing her back to the corridor wall. She fell to pieces in his presence. She wanted so much to gain his approval. Out of all the men she'd ever met, he was the only one who's skin she aspired to walk in. He was powerful and precise. Perfectly stable, and yet questionably sane. His demeanor, so clam and collected, had a gravitating effect over her. She orbited him like an insignificant planet does a mighty star. Maybe the most attractive quality was his control, power over life and death. She wanted power, power like that. He made her feel safe and on life's brim at the same time. No one could do that. No one.

Realizing the holy man would soon miss her and come snooping around, she shook her nerves still. It would not do for Imam to see her so skittishly giddy. He disapproved tremendously of her infatuation, and had all ready suggested several times that she grow her hair out again and abandon her blacked out swimming goggles. He said there was no need to pretend any more. No need to fear being a little girl. But playing make believe gave her confidence she could never find as a normal girl. She felt like she could better take care of her self this way, whether it was a self imposed illusion or not.

She snuck back into the bay, making sure he didn't see. Maybe he wouldn't notice how long she'd been gone. Sure enough, Imam was still in his own little world. She jumped aboard the skiff, pretending to busy herself with inspections. She flicked some switches here, tapped a dead dial there. None of it meant anything to her, but she liked to think it did. Working form the tail end towards the cockpit, she soon found herself scrutinizing gauges over the pilot's seat.

With a speculative glance down the ramp and out the back, to make sure she wasn't in Imam's line of sight, she eased herself into the chair. Cautiously, as if she were afraid to set the silent craft into motion, she wound her fingers around the manual controls. She wondered what it would be like to fly, to dictate the ships movements, make it go where she wanted it to go. Closing her eyes, she gently leaned to her left, imagining the craft responding to her touch, tilting through they abyss of space.

A voice jolted her out of her day dream, "Jack?" She whirled around, and seeing that she still had a chance, leapt out of the seat and half way down the main deck. There she leaned casually against an inner partition. "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Where is Johns? We should find him and eat before the final trappings he ordered for the skiff are delivered." He peeked in. Spying her, he smiled, "Are you hungry?"

"Famished," she informed him.

"And where has our officer gone?"

She shrugged arrogantly, "How should I know?"

He bowed his head, and with a soft laugh sighed, "Indeed."