Author's note: This chapter seems a little sketchy to me, and I'm not sure what I could do to make it better. Hmm... let me know if it's just me, or if it really does feel sticky.

Chapter Three


They could see a large blue planet looming up before them. A perfectly happy looking place, with scattered settlements visible through the pristine atmosphere, small, green oceans off setting the cobalt rock, and a good sized single sun a reasonable distance away. It was rotating incredulously slowly; Riddick estimated the average day as 72 standard hours.

He said nothing about it, so she didn't.

As they edged closer, Riddick snapped the craft's nose up and to the right, making sure to give the planet's gravity plane a wide girth. The dramatic angle change made everything shift. Something slipped out from beneath Jack's seat and slid all the way to the shuttle doors, smashing into them and shattering. Riddick's neck snapped his head around with a grotesque pop. A splatter of fluorescent aqua blue smeared the tail end of the craft.

"Shit," she breathed, bowing her head, her eyes downcast.

"Jack?" he asked, warning her not to try and beat around the bush.

The sound of glass breaking had jolted Imam awake. He blinked sleepily, his eyes roaming unfocused around him. "What? What has happened? What was..?"

"Jack," Riddick insisted. He kept his gaze focused on the contents of the now demolished rum bottle that had been dislodged from beneath her. The glowing chunks began to wiggle.

"I forgot, okay?" she spat offensively.

"Not okay," he asserted through his teeth. "I said we'd take nothing off that damn rock. Nothing. If there was anything left, you were supposed to take care of it. You were supposed to sweep out the skiff."

His disappointed, accusatory tone stung her. She shrank into her shell and stared blankly away from him.

"Great," he growled, reaching for the com-link, "One more pit stop."

Imam's hands groped at the latch that secured his safety restraints. "Don't move," Riddick ordered, "Don't got time or patience enough for a preemptive clean up job, all right? We're taking her down. Let the locals lap up the maggots. I won't ride with those another parsec."

He rotated the radio dials, trying to pick up on the planet's open frequency. Through the squeaks and the static he found it. He brought the transmitter close to his lips, "Any one out there?"

"They're just glow worms," Jack grumbled, almost inaudibly.

He turned to her and said sharply, "I don't care."

A high pitched shriek came from the receiver, signaling some one from the surface joining them on line, making all three wince. "Yes. Identify and state your purpose."

"Stop over," he replied, mockingly amused, "Picnic. Officer Lawrence Johns," he took a cursory glanced at the holobadge, "System code 394-12375-9999. Personal code 7-8923-9918." He wasn't confident in those numbers, after all, Johns was a merc. Fake badge, fake codes.

He heard a positive beep in the back ground. "Was that Officer Johns or John?" asked the voice on the other end.

"What ever it says in the file," he replied casually, trying to seem unconcerned enough to joke.

"Right," the man said pleasantly. "All righty. Identify passengers and relations."

"One man, forty one," He waited for Imam to mouth his home planet to him, he shrugged a little at the response. He thought it was just a pilgrimage, "Current resident of Helion Prime. One boy, just turned twelve, same system I'm from. That's it."

"Relationships," he repeated.

He hesitated, then, "Kid's my sister's, man's just a friend."

Jack raised an eyebrow. He winked at her, taking the transmitter away from his mouth, "Half sister."

"All looks good from here," the voice said tentatively, prematurely all most, like he was checking for the okay from his superiors. He got it, "Yep. Give me a moment to triangulate the appropriate coordinates for you. You'll be docking in the morning."

The decent was easy. Riddick was careful to hold the craft as level as permitted, attempting to keep the creepy crawlies where they were. Shards of glass slid back and forth, clinking forbodingly. The sound was eerily reminiscent of the fateful clickity- click the night fliers had made. The closer the ground came, the more Riddick pursed his lips. That was no vacationer's hanger on the horizon. Crisp lines, harsh reflective metal, deep run way... not for the average tourist. Not military, no, but government run.

There was a split second where he had to make his final decision: face what ever accusations lay on the surface, or spend a week in cryo-sleep with those bugs. He chose the men over the beasts.

They glided smoothly into the hanger. Riddick was gentle with the touch down, slipping tamely into place, slick as silk. As soon as the engines died, men swarmed around the battered skiff, blasters at the ready.

"Party's over," Riddick said, placing his goggles securely over his eyes, then throwing open his harness and thrusting himself from the chair.

"So soon?" Jack asked, cocky, and confident that she was about to see a major ass whooping. Twelve to one, and Riddick would stand victorious; she played the anticipated scene again and again in her mind.

"Seems a bit much for two travelers and a child," said Imam, gazing out of the front windshield. He furrowed his brow thoughtfully.

Tip toeing around the wriggling aliens, Riddick positioned himself directly in front of the doors, with his hand poised over the release button, "Don't neither of you follow me. Stay down. Not a glimpse of your face until I say so, understood?" He leaned lazily into the large red button. The doors grated apart, skiving off bugs as they did (some of the more squashed ones fell on his shoes, clinging grotesquely to them), and the ramp extended efficiently.

As soon as one of his well worn boots touched the ramp, all guns were on him. He took in the crowd. Only a select few had weapons at all. Others wore long white lab coats, and there was one woman in bright blue and gold garb that seemed totally out of place. "Don't move," one member of the militia commanded, his voice shook.

Looking down at his boot, it was easy to infer the problem. Slowly, he raised his hands up in surrender. All they had to do was cooperate and they'd be home free.

"Why did you not report an infestation?" demanded the same panicky man.

"What's a few bugs?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"This is a decontamination facility. Thermal scans picked up all 28 life forms on board. Since you did not report more than three we were required to assume you were unaware of the remainder. We are here for your protection."

The woman in blue stepped forward, motioning for the lab techies to move in. They carried large containers and a multitude of utensils with them. Cautiously, they began extracting the little bodies, alive and pancaked alike, form all around Riddick.

"Are you familiar with these creatures?" the woman asked regally. Coming closer, she turned up her nose. She was pretty, no question, with shoulder length, frizzy, red wood colored hair and gold flecked eyes to match. Her build was slender, yet substantial, and she held herself proudly, feigning height.

Riddick was unimpressed. "Vaguely."

"Elaborate."

"I'm familiar in as far as they're slapped all over my exit."

Trying to pierce through his black goggles to his eyes, she bit her lip and twisted a piece of hair from behind her ear. Unable to do so, she moved into a more defensive stance. "As soon as the vessel has been cleaned, have one of my men escort the three of you to my office." It was an order, not a request. She turned to her companions, "You know the drill."

Riddick, his face unreadable, watched her sweep out of their presence.