A.N.: I am disregarding 'Dark Fury' as canon for this story because of inconsistencies between that movie and TCOR. Specifically, in the end of DF, Imam brings up the subject of Riddick's influence on Jack and explicitly implies that it would be a good idea if Riddick left. But in TCOR, we see Imam bewailing Riddick for leaving, as though he had thought it would have been an undeniably good thing for Riddick to have stayed, and tells Riddick that Jack had needed him. There's no way to fit those two puzzle pieces together (unless there's a huge third piece we're missing in between). Imam's position in DF is predictable; his position in TCOR is by far more interesting. So I'm writing my own version of what happened after PB, to resolve the contradiction in DF and to set up the characters' psychology.
CHRONICLES OF RIDDICK:
PROPHECIES OF THE ASCENDANT
PROLOGUE: REDUX
Five years earlier...
Riddick preferred dark weather the way he preferred the night. That from which others sought refuge he took as his element. In the achromatic violence of the pounding rain he walked the open streets, his distinctive figure concealed by the obscuring lines of a drenched cloak and a bowed head, the hood pulled down over his uncovered eyes. If the gaze of any passerby briefly crossed his mercurial own, the shining seen there melded indistinguishably with the omnipresent aluminous light, seeming only a reflection of the environment rather than anything unnatural, and quickly their eyes returned to the road ahead of them, peering through the drops that hung from their lashes and stung their vision to find the shallowest part of the next puddle in a vain attempt to try to keep dry robes that already clung to their limbs.
It was in this way that Riddick passed through the streets of New Mecca. It amused him to walk this way. Riddick the criminal, Riddick the killer, brushed by people unaware, their bodies hunched against the deluge and he no more than an afterthought in their minds, quickly forgotten.
Ducking under the overhang of an unattended corner shop, Riddick surveyed the main fare. In the rare downfall the market was almost empty, the only people present those on their way to some business too vital to wait out the weather and the few vendors who were too desperate for customers to close up shop or abandon their stalls. The rain swallowed most noise of words and footsteps, leaving the street only the long percussion of the rain, the voicelessness of all human life like a breath held under the storm's oppressive release.
Next to him, under her own sopping cloak, Jack looked up at him in anticipation. He glanced down at her, and she broke into a grin, water dripping down her face from the hood clinging to her stubbled head. Riddick regarded her a moment with veiled curiosity before his eyes returned to the street ahead, the barest hint of an ironic smirk flitting briefly across the corner of his mouth; not even the torrential rain could dampen the kid's spirits, or her excitement at getting to venture out with him.
It had been four months since the crash of the Hunter-Gratzner on that monster-infested hell; four months since the subsequent escape from T-2 on the skiff with the cleric and the girl. Four months – albeit in and out of cryosleep - he had spent traveling with them - the longest he had spent traveling with anyone in more than half his life.
There had been few supplies on the skiff: two packs of cryodried rations and a couple days worth of stale water they had stretched over six. They had stopped at the first inhabited planet they had come to, a dark, seedy outpost where their damaged ship hadn't stood out - Riddick could not have been able to plan it better if he had tried. Though he had been relieved to see civilization, the place had still made Imam uneasy, and he had asked if there was not another place they could make; but their fuel had been low, and systems had been threatening to give way. So they had landed to resupply and refuel, obtaining honestly what they could, Riddick stealing what they could not. Imam had finally protested when he had returned with three cryosleep systems and began hooking them up. "We need to keep moving," Riddick had countered shortly. "Long time between stops. Or would you rather stay here?"
"There must be some other way to get what we need besides theft."
Riddick had turned to him, eyes narrowed, and had coldly growled, "Got any suggestions?" The cleric had fallen silent, a frown chasing the short lived indignation from his face, and it had satisfied Riddick for a moment to see the holy man struggle with himself as he realized for the first time the logic of such sins.
They had taken off almost immediately to avoid any suspicions. Late that night, after Jack had fallen asleep in the back of the small ship, Imam had joined Riddick where he was finishing installing the cryosleep system on the pilot's chair. "I wish to continue my journey," he had spoken solemnly, and Riddick had listened with some surprise. He had expected this to come up, but not for several days more, or not until after he had split, whichever came first. "I do not want my boys to have died for nothing." Riddick had continued working without responding, and Imam had glanced back at Jack where she slept. "I will take her with me. There is no need for her to go to a shelter or orphanage." He had paused hesitantly. "This may be a second chance for you as well, my friend," and Riddick had raised an eyebrow at Imam's last word. "A chance to start a new life, free of prisons or being hunted. I will help you, if it's what you want."
Riddick had almost laughed. If every merc's creed was greed, then it was every convict's religion to run, something Imam didn't understand. It wasn't a way of life - it was life. Once born again by one's first crime, baptized by bounty, the only way out was prison or death - two words synonymous for anyone who had ever had a taste of life in the slam. They might believe him dead for now, but not forever. Sooner or later it would be discovered that he'd survived the crash, and as soon as they caught his scent they would be after him again. The price on his head was too tempting. To play it steady, to stay with the cleric and the girl...
That's the last thing I'd do, Riddick had chuckled silently - then thought again. And the last thing those damn mercs would expect.
He had surveyed Imam sidelong from behind his goggles. If he stayed with them for a while, let Imam handle all the finances and arrangements, the only thing to testify to his passage might be a couple of witnesses - and if he were careful not even that. There would be no signs, no trail for the mercs to follow. By the time the bounty hunters had figured out he hadn't died, he had thought, he would be long gone, leaving nothing to tell them where to start looking.
"...I know she would want you to stay. You have a chance to show her how to live a better life. Will you come with us?"
Riddick plugged in the last tube and hit the switch. Power coursed through the machine and it began to glow and hum. "Well, I'm the one with the ship and supplies," he had said at last. "So you'd better pray I'm coming."
Imam had smiled and rose. "Good. We will speak in the morning, my friend." And he had retreated to the back of the skiff. Riddick had watched him go over his shoulder, an unfamiliar ambivalence about his deception prickling at the edge of his thoughts.
They had been able to make New Mecca in fourteen weeks, taking a more direct route than what had been planned for the doomed transport vessel. They had spent most of the time in cryo, stopping twice more for fuel and repairs, Riddick not wanting to purchase (or steal) too much at any one place lest it drew attention to their already unlikely traveling party.
They had finally arrived on Helion Prime two weeks ago, descending into the atmosphere a couple hundred miles from New Mecca to avoid the air patrols and coasting in low over the desert surface. Rising over the crest of a sandy dune they had had their first glimpse of the city: the pristine burnt gold of the earthen walls; banners, pennants, and laundry fluttering in the wind; the towering minarets, steeples, and domes of temples and city buildings coloring the skyline; and, towering above all, the pillars of light rising, commanding even in the bright desert sun, like intangible statues of idols ascending until they melded with the sky. Imam, standing behind Riddick and silently peering ahead for the first signs of the city, had fallen to his knees, his clutched prayer beads pressing into his palm and tears rolling freely into his beard as he had quietly wailed a euphoric prayer. Jack, revived, had whooped and cheered, jumping from her chair.
It looked, Riddick had decided, watching the elite guard patrol ships glide over the city, better policed and governed than some warfare nations – an unlikely place for a criminal to try to hide, and, he had thought, an unlikely place for mercs to look for him. At least for a little while.