A/N: A chapter covering Lujjan (and Abu), Carolyn and Aereon, Kyra, and, hey… what's up with that Eva character? Note… the section with Kyra is still dark, violent, prison life. Remember this is a mature fic. So read with caution.

And guess what? I'm still waiting for that call that says I own this, but seeing as it hasn't happened I suppose I don't. That being the case, don't even bother to sue me...

A Passage: 30

Fallout

She hurt in places that she never realized could hurt before. She wanted to pass out, so bad… but she couldn't with the boiling rage flowing through her veins. Kyra watched the ceiling-light fixtures go by with hooded eyes as she was hauled back into the medical area. Once there the hack unceremoniously gassed her, unhooked her from the brass display table, and gave her a once over. He didn't bother to heal anything or clean anything, or even note anything in her file. With a sneer he tossed a set of grubby clothes that weren't even hers onto her chest.

Still unable to move, she was then dragged off the hard slab onto the floor rather roughly. She landed on her ass. Pain shot through her noodle-like limbs from the impact. An armored guard took each arm with a third leveling his gun at her. Still nude but with the clothing lying on her chest, she was then dragged through the prison, her legs and arms flopping like they were made of rags. The prisoners on the route whooped and hollered but the guards paid them no mind. Krya's mind started to fill with fog again, as the oblivion of unconsciousness refused to come.

Just as she was getting use of her limbs back the tailing guard moved his gun to get her attention before poking her with it, "Don't even think of tensing up, prisoner. I'll shoot first and ask you what we should put on your gravestone later." Kyra glared back at him but remained relaxed in spite the rough surfaces scrapping against her already tender skin causing her to feel like she was being flayed alive. In order to endure it she focused her attention on the barrel of the gun leveled at her.

They finally reached isolation. The guard in charge of checking new inmates in flipped open a door that was about waist height. The roof was not much higher. The guards dragging her tossed her in and pitched her boots at her not caring if they hit her or not. With the pain she was already in she barely noticed either way.

The gun barrel that she'd focused on was lifted out of view and she lunged for the doorway in a moment of insanity. She hit the door as it clanged shut with a heavy metallic finality. The guards laughed on the other side of the door. It was the last thing she heard before blacking out due to the foul fumes left behind from pass residents…

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Lujjan set Ziza into her stationary play table to keep the ever curious and active child out of trouble and turned to the other woman in the room, "I'm sure that it is all behind us, or I was. Until Carolyn called last week. I'd forgotten about the visit from Audrey all those months ago. You know how Abu is about his work, nothing is more vital to him than the state of New Mecca." Behind her Ziza began to make the various parts move and clink, buzz and whirl as she played with the activities built into the table.

Over the resulting noise the other woman Lujjan was having tea with stated, "Yes, I do work with him, Lujjan. This is a social visit, though. I don't get to see you, my friend, as often as I like." The finely dressed government official settled down in a seat near the former princess. "Have you spoken to your father lately?"

"Of course. He sent presents for the baby. A few months late, really. The clothes are too small for Ziza to wear, and boys styles to boot, but I suppose there's always the possibility of another."

Ziza noticed that the others were drinking and made a noise that sounded an awful lot like, "Me too?" Lujjan stood back up and fixed a sippy cup with lightly sweetened 'tea' which was mostly water and milk with a dollop of the local spiced sweetener which she then handed to the child along with a shortbread biscuit. Ziza giggled happily and managed a, "T'ank, Mum," before stuffing the corner of the biscuit into her mouth and sucking on it.

"Learning her manners already?" the woman laughed. Lujjan smiled and nodded. "You know, your father sending boys clothes sure sounds like something he'd do, all right."

"She is a smart child, the apple of Abu's eye. The light of my life," Lujjan picked up her cup as she settled back down. "As for my father, I called him and let him meet his grand-daughter. He seemed happy enough to see her. I expect the next package will be filled with my mother's jewels. Do you think it was a not so subtle hint to have more?"

The suggestion about the jewels stuck with the counselor, "Would he do that? Send a fortune by mail?"

"This is my father we are talking about. If he thinks the stones will net him a political advantage, then you know he will. Never mind the fact that I won't let him sell my daughter to the highest bidder, ever."

"Well, he might be hoping for a grandson to take over his position, Lujjan. Otherwise it goes to your Uncle. The political mess that would cause makes me shiver." All Lujjan could do was agree with that. Her Uncle was not prime material for leadership, being lazy and too easy to sway by outside parties. Silence settled over them with only the sounds of them drinking their tea to break it. Ziza happily played with her sippy cup. "I suppose political advantage was the only reason he allowed you to remarry after you found yourself sold to the Kovans. And speaking of the Kovans…" The Councilor watched them as she finished her tea. "You must know, Lujjan, that Abu is trying to extradite Audrey Johastein from Kova. The Kovan ambassador is being bullheaded, and will likely try to discredit him if he's not careful. Warn your husband that whatever his motivation, its not worth his career."

Lujjan stiffened. "You have no right. Abu feels that family is important. This is a family matter." She started to stand.

"Wait," she reached out and put a hand on the other woman's arm, "-- Lujjan, please. You are my friend. I know you love your husband, but Kova isn't something to mess around with. He's playing with fire here -- "

Lujjan resumed her seat and eyed the golden-skinned woman over. This individual was one that had sided with Abu on a number of occasions and had put her neck out for him before when he had lobbied for improved safety for long-term sleeper ships. Together they had taken on the Company and managed to get a layer of protection that woke the crew up if the ship deviated off course by more than a thousandth of a degree. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes, "I'm aware of the risks. He's aware of the risks. But that won't stop him from doing what is right, Councilor. Audrey Johastein, or Jackie as he knows her, is someone he survived a great trial with. They bonded quite deeply, and there is no way he is going to turn his back on her. The crime she is accused of she did not commit. The Kovan justice system didn't even give her a hearing. Surely you see why this is important to him?"

"Yes, I understand why. It's just that I don't want to see him raked over hot coals. While she's been there she assaulted two guards, taking them out barehanded. Last I heard she was in solitary lockdown. The Chillingsworth clan has enormous power to bring to bear. I'm worried that they will crush you both."

A chime rang someplace in the house drawing Lujjan's attention. "It is past time I make dinner. Please excuse me," she said with a wan smile. The words she had just heard sent ice through her heart. Suddenly she was very scared for Jackie.

The other woman stood and moved out the door. She stopped and hugged Lujjan before she exited, "I'll do everything I can to watch his back, if you feel this is that important."

Closing her eyes, Lujjan relaxed. She hugged the other woman, "Thank you." Behind her Ziza began to fuss as if she sensed her mother's agitation. "Good bye." The other woman just nodded as the door closed.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The brown-haired woman woke to something furry nibbling at her toes. Without thinking she screamed and smashed the critter even though it was not hurting her. Pulse racing she assumed it was a rat… But as she calmed she could guess it was a large mouse-like creature as she felt it's dead form with her fingers. In the darkness of her small cell she wasn't sure really what it was. She stiffly stretched as much as she could before finding the clothing scattered about around her. Kyra shivered. The darkness was not broken by anything. She didn't have enough room to stand. She used her hands to figure out what item of apparel went where, identifying a pair of rough underwear, the grubby jumpsuit and finally the boots. Try as she might she wasn't able to find socks.

She put on what she did have before reaching for the boots again. One boot was heavy. A family of the critters had already moved into it. Kyra evicted them and shook out the junk they had dragged into it. 'Yuck,' She gagged a bit. Even so, it was better to have the boots on then to have her toes eaten by the beasties. After that she cleaned up what she could by brushing it toward the back of the chamber and hunkered down to wait. It was all she could do, really.

There was no space to exercise, unless she used the cryochamber exercises that Toombs taught her. If nothing else it was something to do. She set herself a ridiculously high number of reps to do of each exercise then she began making up variations. She did this until she was exhausted. Food arriving woke her up. She had to shoo off the critters to get the food. She finally threw some to the dirty side of the cell and ate the rest. She kept the utensil she ate with long enough to get the guards to open the cell and take it back. They beat her to a bloody pulp and added another month to her lockdown. She gave up the idea and went back to exercising.

In the darkness she had no idea of how long she slept, nor how long she was awake. The only regular event that occurred was the food arriving. She had no idea if it was once a day or three times a day. There was never any light, only a slight scraping sound before the bowl appeared or went away. At first she considered giving in to the despair that pressed at her psyche. Then she mapped out by touch the entire space, willing herself to explore the trash even, just for something to keep her mind occupied. And she worked out as much as she could manage. But try as she might Kyra couldn't fight off the effects of living in such a small, dirty space.

At some point in the middle of her isolation she had a spell of a sickness. Cold and chills were her first clue that something was wrong. Then she shivered and sweated as her muscles went into a series of dull aching spells. She couldn't exercise, nor do much of anything else. But the food, when it arrived, sent her into a fit of gagging and wrenching that left her feeling weak and wrung out.

She blamed the animals in the cell with her. The irrational part of her mind figured that if she got rid of them then the sickness would go away. Weak as she was, Kyra managed to kill the rodents and put the bodies in the food bowl after eating the food. She had to force it down and struggle to keep it in. The guards took the bowl out, tiny bodies and all. She drifted in and out of waking, not sure how much time was passing… It hardly mattered. She couldn't see much more with her eyes open than she could with them closed.

Kyra did think that perhaps her mind was going south. She could swear that sometimes the darkness was lighter. Like there was a white patch of fog hovering against the far wall. At first once she noticed it the lighter patch would disappear until she wasn't looking for it again. Then it would fade back into view. Not that it shed light on her surroundings, or her, but she was aware of it and could keep it there if she didn't stare directly at it. Or she could make it go away by focusing her attention on it. Or maybe the darkness and isolation was driving her mad…

One day while shivering half awake in a fever dream she saw the pale mist resolve into an image. It was an icy, windswept landscape. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Instead of fading away though the vision became sharper. Kyra focused her full attention on it, hoping to drive this – whatever it was—away. Instead she became aware that in the center of the vision was a handmade shelter of sorts, a series of ice bricks backing a stretched white skin from some huge creature. Her focus seemed to zoom in on the shelter until she could see that the front limbs of the skin where tied off on two sturdy black poles by some type of handmade cording. Various bone weapon tips attached to bone shafts sat ready to be used against the back wall. They looked to be skillfully carved with intricate hooked serrations. 'Fishing spears?' she thought. Movement caught Kyra's eye. Out from the deeper shadows inside the shelter emerged a figure dressed in shaggy white furs with long wild hair that formed sun-bleached blonde braided dreadlocks as it spilled off the person's head.

Kyra blinked at the vision and tried to come to grips with what she was seeing. The figure slowly tipped its head up and looked right at her. Kyra found herself glowering at a face that was very nearly her own. The eyes were the same shape if the wrong color. Her nose, lips, and skintone were spot on. And the cheeks were about the same height and width too. But the chin was more pointed and lacked the dimple she had. In spite the primitive clothing and environment, the other woman looked less dirty, less savage, and certainly less feverish.

The woman's golden eyes had an inner fire… a luminous spark the danced in the depths of her pupils. Her sun streaked hair that peaked out from her deep fur lined hood had bits of stuff woven into it. Tuffs of fur, strands of leather, linked together fish scales, even a small tooth or two. Her skin had a tan from the reflections off the ice, just a gentle bronze glow.

Kyra became aware that the other person was staring back at her with a look of recognition, paused in place with her wrapped hands entwined around what had to be nets still dipped into water. It was impossible. Couldn't be happening…

The image faded and Kyra stared at the blackness that replaced it.

She tried to forget about the vision. She wanted to write it off as a fever dream. Yet the next day she had it again.

Only this time the other woman looked at her sadly for a moment and went back to her fishing. Kyra's attention was held captive by that harsh visage, lit with a faint violet glow, as she watched her counterpart haul nets filled with smallish silvered fish onto the ice.

Same thing happened the day after… and the day after that. Even after the fever was long gone it happened. Kyra came to almost welcome it, as the vision was the highlight of her day. She had no idea who it was she was seeing, or why it might be important, but the other woman never seemed surprised to see her. And Kyra was sure that they were seeing each other. Sometimes the shelter would be set slightly different, or the weapons would change. At one point she noticed that the other woman's clothes had a newly patched area, like she'd mended and covered a tear in her leathers. At another, Kyra spotted what looked like a purple hickey half hidden under the other woman's hair behind her ear when the wind blew her hood back off her head. But she never wondered why she was having these visions, instead focusing on how grateful she felt for the sense that she was not alone.

The visions kept her sane until the guards arrived at her door to take her someplace else.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Eva Logan was a woman with a mission. Well, two really. She'd become a Merc to keep an eye on someone as a favor to her father, not that the 'someone' had made her job easy or anything. Toombs obsession just fell into her lap like a godsend. In this one case her two missions coincided. She wondered sometimes though, if all the childhood talk about Furya was more the stuff of legend and myth than reality.

The primary situation that scared her was not the location of Riddick, but that of one Audrey Johastein. Toombs had indicated that the woman in prison was not the same one that hacked the Kubla Kahn. It suited the purposes of the Furyan survivors for the guild link Toombs wanted to remain lost as long as possible, at the moment. But eventually, they would need their lost 'king' to resurface, whether he wanted to or not. And apparently Toombs would need that link to prove that Riddick had been alive the entire time to get paid. If only it were that simple.

Her Da would know how to handle the request to hunt out the info Toombs wanted. Although Toombs hadn't asked for it directly, Heidi and Eva had spent a good portion of their private time tracking Riddick's movements, watching his location, keeping an eye on his progress. Eva had watched her mother hack into Sigma 3's systems and copy communication logs, surveillance records, reports, school transcripts… the works. She had a private file on Richard B. Riddick that placed each moment of each day for 14 years, from the time the company first recorded his bio-signal as a survivor from Furya until the moment he disappeared into Altair's top triple max cryo-slam. She was still trying to hack into that system to cover the resulting 3-year gap.

The records past that were spotty, mostly because Riddick rarely stayed in one slam very long before escaping. Her file ignored rumors, as they were pointless. Instead she tracked the movements of individuals like Johns, and now Toombs, searching for real clues as to Riddick's location. So looking for the marshal's guild link could be helpful to her cause, as it gave her an excuse to track Johns' movements closer than before.

She slipped into her one-man craft. Seconds later her comms sparkled to life and an older blonde man appeared, "Hi Da, I've got some news."

"Evie, darlin'. So good to hear your voice. Tell me, luv, what have you found." The elder Logan's eyes never focused on the screen; the milky mirror-like blue shade of them spoke of his blindness and made Eva sad. She remembered the entire time with his vision failing as she grew up. He had told her that it was the price of his gift, and that he was willing to pay it. But he'd never told her what that gift had been in the first place.

She took a deep breath; "It has to do with Riddick, Da. Johastein thinks he's still alive. He's roped Toombs into looking for him. Hell, he's even given him intel to assist. Personal stuff, photos and things about his Audrey."

"Um. Worrisome, that." The man got a pensive look on his weathered face. "I know Amadak is alive. There's no doubt. And he's not alone, either." Eva scrunched up her face as she wondered how her Da knew this, but he kept going. "It's gonna be trouble in the future, Evie. Stay on your toes."

"But, what should I do? Should I help Toombs, Da?"

"Follow your heart, luv. Your Ma wonders when you gonna come home and visit. At least send some flowers this year, even if I have ta take them to her."

Eva Logan felt her heart sink. She'd hoped that Da would stop talking about her Ma like she was still there, but he hadn't. "I'll try, Da. Think roses will work?" she offered sadly.

"That would be lovely, darlin'. Your Ma likes roses."

She made a face as she tried to keep the tears from falling that had pooled in her eyes. Swallowing, she finally managed, "Okay, Da. I'll either send or bring some roses. I got to go, but I love you."

"We know it, darlin'. Stay safe, Evie."

She sat there in her darkened cockpit for a long while after. Follow her heart? What kind of advice was that?

Hell, she had already decided to look up the intel, hadn't she?

She shook her head to clear it. She went over what she knew and tried to figure out what she didn't. Riddick had slipped Butcher Bay 42 months ago. Shortly thereafter he carved his way out of Slam City station. Johns had caught him and he had been due at Tangiers 3 nine months later. Instead, the ship crashed, and he'd gone missing. When the survivors surfaced it was a 'Smyth' instead of a Riddick. And now she had Toombs, and the rumors of his Kovan records that clearly indicated Smyth was Riddick.

She contacted Helion and pulled up the official records on Smyth again. He'd been missing for 27 months now, presumed dead. Eva bounced the back of her head off her seat in aggravation. His last known port of call was Helion, but his flight data indicated Aquila. She never had very good luck with them over long distance. She'd have to go there in order for them to take her seriously. And it was something she couldn't trust to an underling with the majority of them set to chase after Riddick themselves.

Hell, again.

That was a long day in the saddle.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The lock rattled open. Light flooded into the dark space. Kyra blinked, dazed from the brightness. The guards were not messing around. None of them touched her. "Move. Now." Double max guards, survival veterans, old blood. Kyra crawled out of the tiny, cramped lockdown box that had been her home since the party in Willis' office. "Get to your fucking feet, inmate, or I'll shoot you." She registered alarm first then got to her feet as quickly as she could. "Walk." The group of guards that hauled her out of lockdown carried stun-sticks, big guns, and mean, hardened expressions.

"Inmate Walking!" another guard called, putting all of his guild-mates on alert. More guns than she could count trained on her position. They did not bother chaining her. Breaking into a run or challenging them would just rain hot lead down on her; chains were unnecessary if she were even half-smart. Her path took her into the depths of Kovan Penal, into what had once been a double basement of huge proportions. Below her, about 10 feet down, existed a maze of walls, half walls, and rubble swarming with the dregs of the prison. The hardened criminals. Double max prison. Dirty, grungy, nasty…none of the words Kyra knew really described the place. It was hellish. And that was just the appearance from a distance.

She was tossed into it after solitary lockdown for attacking the guards in the med-lab. There were no cells here, just the maze of open ceiling cubbies. No privacy. The guards dressed in heavy-duty armor patrolled up above with their guns ever at the ready. Food was what you could snag, clothes what you could keep. The guards dragged Kyra out into the light and literally threw her down through a hole in the grating. The inmates waiting just out of stun range sprang on her seconds after the gate clanged shut. Her Merc training came in handy. They were expecting someone weak, disorientated and unused to defending herself, but what they got was a reckless bundle of wrath exploding with sudden fatality.

Five of the local gang went down in a bloody haze of copperish mist. Kyra fought for and defended her space, carving her place in double max at the expense of any whom got in her way. The first to fall were the inmate guardians of the gate, the 'Pretties' as they called themselves. She made the name a misnomer, after rearranging several faces. The guards were rather used to the violence, the ones pushing Kyra in actually took bets on who would walk out of the fight before shooting any stragglers once the fight was finished. Luckily she could walk, run even, once the fight was over or the guards would have shot her too.

The bodies of the defeated represented a measure of wealth; one she was not ready to give up. She waited in the shadows until the bullets stopped flying and emerged to gather boots, clothing, and whatever else she could scavenge off of the bodies. She bundled the goods together, leaving little behind, and moved off into the maze far enough away to find water. She was sure that the system here would be like the unofficial one on Sigma 3 that she remembered so well.

And she was right; convicts had to trade something for everything… She watched the line snake down to the waterspout, each inmate trading some bit …smokes, info, rumor, contraband… for water. The large fellow at the spout was just the sort that Kyra did not think she could take on. He was burly, mean looking, and in sore need of new shoes. "Quite a fight, won some smokes off of it. But nothing comes free here. One of those pretties had a size eleven shoe…Looks like he don't need 'um anymore… You want to deal?"

"What you got? Just water…. How much access to it does a pair of boots buy?"

"Those shiny new size elevens will get you access until they wear out. Or you die. Whichever comes first."

She traded him boots for access to the spout. "Done." Not only did the boots buy her water, but she sensed that perhaps they'd earned her an ally here, a neutral that would not turn on her. Something she was in sore need of herself. "So where did the gate guards flop?"

"Ah, you don't want to stay in that 'hood… None of them on that side know the meaning of 'mine' or 'yours'. Too eager to make everything equal. Slit your throat in your sleep, they will." He eyed her over, "You know, kid – there's a rat-free hole right over there," he pointed to a darkened corner with a covering blocking the guards' view, " and I'll keep an honest eye on your stuff, if you promise to guard my stash. The pretties beat the shit out of my last help, so I owe you one. I'm Charlie." He shook her hand.

"Kyra." She knew better than to refuse. He felt like an honest, if deadly, fellow. "I don't plan on staying long, Charlie."

"Hey, none of us do. You make it out, send me a postcard with a shiv hidden in it, okay, Kyra?"

Having gained some respect, she settled on a temporary spot to flop down and kept her eyes open. Witnesses to her entrance gradually approached with a show of helping. Most offered to trade information, a snippet of survival lore in exchange for some news of the outside world…so she traded what she could, carefully guarding her words, always hinting that she knew more than she was telling. Danger made her smart, pain made her tough.

She learned that fights had to be lightening fast, knock out or deadly, before the guards had time to react. …That Willis still had methods for slaving out inmates to the most deviant members of Kovan society, even here in double max. …That the Rychengoll church sent constituents to preach among the convict population. Often the audience got little choice in the matter. The preaching was accompanied by intense physical stimulation, torture really. But there might be way to escape there… Sometimes if a prisoner endured for a length of time the 'golls would declare that they had a convert and remove the inmate from the prison. Escape was the key. She had to get out of this place. She might be able to slip the Rychengolls… Her only problem would getting their notice. In order to do that she'd have to challenge her way through the maze taking on others who had set their sights on the same purpose.

Charlie wasn't all that bad of a guy, Kyra decided. Sure he was a violent, sleazy killer, but he was an honest, violent, sleazy killer. Once he'd given his word he was good on it. A real convict. He was also not sexually interested in her, which made him safe. The story of how he'd come to this slam was a long involved one. He was guilty of murder, domestic conspiracy, lewd conduct, and corruption of innocent morals. He knew he kind of belonged there, and was not bitter about the fact. He'd even turned himself in. Charlie took Kyra in as a stray and could believe that she'd been framed for her initial murder charges. He'd seen that done before. She felt better about things, by just a tiny amount….

Actually, they had a fun time comparing guards' asses from under the privacy of his little shelter. Charlie also was the betting sort, and Kyra was able to provide him with plenty to bet on, usually at good odds because she was the newcomer. Charlie was sure that she'd walk away from her fights, so she was a safe bet. Not that knowing him or flopping near his space made life in double max safe or easy, but it did give her more security than she felt in a long time. There was a price for that security, of course. Charlie had his own enemies within the maze, individuals who knew he hoarded things of value or who wanted to control the water and Kyra's job became kicking their asses hard enough to set them straight. She did the job good enough to make her own enemies, challengers who sought to eliminate her altogether. But such was life in double max.

Guards left her alone for several weeks. Enough time for her to make her presence known in the maze. She nearly got into a Rychengoll service but missed it by the luck of the draw. Kyra knew though that it was only a matter of time, she could wait. What she feared was that Willis would remember her and find someone whom wanted to live dangerously. She'd seen how they removed others for such 'servicing' trips and it was not pleasant looking. Even if the target was willing to go peacefully the guards took too much sadistic pleasure in the harsh methods to change them. She vowed to make it as difficult as possible for them to catch her….

Charlie saw them coming from his position at the waterspout, "Kyra if your gonna make a scene I suggest you scat, now," he hissed at her. Charlie guessed the guards were looking for her by the way they moved toward her last known location and swept their lights around to make it difficult for anyone to slip away unnoticed. She waited a moment then bolted deeper into the maze.

"There she is!" one cry told her Charlie had been right. The din of pursuit punctuated with orders and yells followed it. She heard the whine of the electric charger start up. The hose began behind her as she ran. Convicts rudely awakened swore from the cold electrified water and scattered as fast as they could. Kyra dodged a corner and heard the slam of the pressurized stream against a weakened wall followed by it toppling. Another inmate screamed as the current charged water and ruble landed on him. Another couple of turns and she'd reach the 'tunnel' and temporary safety….

"Fucking hit her! I don't want to dig her ass out by hand! Hit her now!" The lead guard was having a fit. Kyra rolled to the side and ducked into a passage to her left. The water splashed against her leg as they tried to follow her with it. Pain arched up her and forced her to hobble for a couple of feet. Slightly slower now she couldn't reach the next corner before the guards brought the hose around and lined it up. Kyra ducked and suppressed screams as the spray washed over her back. The water blocked her path. The guard holding the hose dropped the stream onto her and forced her flat to the floor. She convulsed from the pain. The grating overhead scraped as they unlocked a panel. There was a soft 'poof' sound as they netted her and dragged her entangled form up. For once she was grateful when the pain stopped.

They took her to delousing, followed by prep. Same old shit. She was really rather bored with it. She even yawned at the hacks trying to get her worked up. That pissed them off. Well, at least they could learn to do things differently. She discovered that they were short on time and the "customer" was prone to having fits if they took too long. The hacks also revealed that he came by the prison several times a week and that he had been asking for someone new. Kyra barely paid attention to them. She looked and felt for any weak areas in the restraints, table, or system. There had to be a way out. They finally gave up. She was wheeled into a vinyl-coated, padded, soundproof room. Willis was there along with another dark-haired man. "Ah, here she is. I promise you that this one will last longer than the last one," Willis stated.

"That is what you always promise, Warden. Yet somehow I am always disappointed. We will see if you finally deliver the goods with this one. You may go." The man spoke with regal disdain. He was tall, pale and broad shouldered. His black hair was cropped close to his head. He eyed Kyra over, "And next time, Willis – have her sent directly here. I don't want your hack's clumsy attempts to mar her."

"Of course…"

The man waved Willis out. She studied him some more. Something told her he would push her to her limits and beyond. "Do you fight, girl? Um…. I can see in your eyes that you do. Good." He walked up and twisted his fingers in her hair. "I like women with spirit. It makes it more of a challenge to break them." She spat in his eye. He laughed, slapped her hard enough to rattle her teeth, and hauled her out of the mobile restraints she'd arrived in. Her head spun, and her face stung from his hand connecting with it. He dragged her by her hair over to a set of chains in the center of the room. She thought he was going to rip her hair right out of her head. Kyra gathered enough of her wits to fight him as he moved to re-shackle her. He caught her by her throat and squeezed. His laugher filled the small room. She clawed his hand, making him bleed, but to no avail. He cut off her air until she went limp.

She was not quite unconscious as he chained her up. He smeared his bloody hand over her naked flesh and then blew across the moisture knowing how she'd react to the chill created as the blood dried. He had a table of instruments that looked like they came from an ancient creep show. They were darkly stained from use. Barbed, hooked, sharp, curved, pointed… Kyra took them in but refused to be scared by them. "Let's play, shall we? For my first act, I will see if you pass my self-devised endurance test. How loud can you scream?" He picked up a knife and moved over to her. "I know a place where I can cut right into your gut, and you would live…." He put the knife against her side above her pelvis and measured himself against it. "Perfect." She screamed as the knife sliced through muscle. She felt her own hot blood run down her leg. It seemed to turn him on judging by the growing heat from his groin. Her mind dimly noted the sound of a zipper. Agony exploded along her side forcing her to scream again and again as he used the wound for his gratification. For some reason he lasted a very long time. She was hoarse by the time his seed was spent. The salt in the wound burned like nothing else could. Her last scream was nothing but a croak. He cleaned the wound to her whimpers, and stitched it up with the skill of a surgeon. Kyra passed out to the soft sound of his voice and the feel of the heat from his breath against her ear; "I marked you, and now you are mine…"

Blackness. Blackness and whispers. She groaned and forced her eyes open. A familiar but blurred face hovered over her. There were people around her. Convicts. They all looked worried. Kyra blinked and got her eyes to focus on Charlie. Her hip hurt. It burned. "Hey, Kiddo. You're not checking out without me are you?" Charlie checked the wound. She realized that it burned because the convicts had made some type of hot pack to put on it. She groaned again.

"Fuck no, Charlie. When I go you're coming with me," her voice was a croak.

"Man, she's a fighter, isn't she?" another voice, not one she knew.

"Damn straight she is. Lupe, get her some tea, okay?" Charlie propped her up as the convicts shuffled around her to let Lupe out and back in.

"Here." Kyra watched the tea pass to Charlie who made sure it was exactly what he asked for before he offered it to her. She took it in shaky hands and sipped. The hot liquid was bitter as hell, but it soothed her throat.

"So how do we keep the Mercs from taking her again, Charlie? That fucker just about crushed her windpipe."

"I don't know. Her being unconscious worked the last time. But we all know it won't work forever," Charlie applied some slimy dirty looking sludge to Kyra's neck, "for the bruise…"

"How long?" She managed.

"Couple of days. You ran a fever. I was fearful that the wound was infected, but it looks okay."

Kyra closed her eyes again. "I'm not gonna let him break me, Charlie. No matter what he does."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Aereon closed her eyes as another report made its way to her indicating that the plague was spreading. World after world, system after system, starting on the fringes of human civilization and working slowly inward, were going silent and dark. She didn't even need to look at the images to know who was the cause. No. She blamed herself. Had she chosen death over revealing her secrets to Zhylaw then he wouldn't have known and perhaps things would have already rebalanced themselves. But for the last thirty years the universe instead spun more and more off center. And it was her fault. The guilt of her selfish actions, of her childish desire to live, kept her awake at night, although she couldn't actually say why.

The Furyans were a force as wild and untamed as any other. Chaos flowed in their wake; they were the antithesis of all that was civilized.

Some dared call them evil. She had, once, when youth distorted her perception. She was older now.

Her concept of evil had shifted as she matured. With the looming threat before her, it was Furya and its warriors that she hoped for, although she had no idea where to look for the survivors of the massacre called The Great Infanticide. They had to have scattered to the distant reaches known space, blending in with other human races in ways that Elementals and Rychengolls, the only two remaining Elder Races, could never hope to match.

This report brought the known systems to fall to seven, not counting the number of outer colonies and aborted settlements that had been lost over the years. They were getting bolder, hitting planets that sat along the shipping lanes between the major powers. So far the planets hit were those that had tried to stay independent. Soon though, far too soon, Zhylaw would become so cocksure that he'd take out someplace bound to be noticed, like Taurus or Aquila. Neither system would listen to her, or hear her warning, as Elementals were looked at with suspicion.

She looked up toward the bed where her younger lover slept uneasily. Carolyn had been upset and tense for months now. Between her own guilt and Carolyn's silence a wedge was growing between them that saddened her a great deal. She calculated that the odds were the two issues were related. Aereon could only hope that if she started the process of opening up that Carolyn would respond in kind. They needed to talk about it, whatever the problem was.

Her mind popped up with a random thought, 'Perhaps Helion would listen?' She stood and moved over to the viewport and promptly lost track of time as she stared out at the stars.

Carolyn opened her eyes. Aereon was not in the bed, again. 'I really suck at relationships. If I don't open up to her, its gonna fall apart. Just like always. I'm so tired of being alone.' The blonde scrubbed her face with her hands before throwing off the light blankets and getting up. She spotted the older woman standing at the window, lost in thought. "Love?" she queried softly.

"Its – I need to tell you something, Carolyn. I can't expect you to open up to me if I'm keeping secrets from you. But I'm fearful that you'll - hate me - after I've told you," Aereon didn't even move her eyes from the visage in front of her.

"Hate you? How could I ever hate you? Aereon, what is wrong?" Fry moved up to support her lover when she noticed the other woman was shaking. "Hey, nothing could be that bad." She curled her arms around the elemental and was rewarded, as Aereon seemed to melt into her embrace.

The older woman let the younger warm her; truly fearful that this might be the very last time Carolyn Fry willingly got this close to her. "Quintessa informed me that another world, a colony on the edge of a shipping lane between Lupus and Helion went mysteriously dark and silent a week ago." She closed her eyes, "This brings the total to seven human settlements lost in the last seven cycles. I don't even have to wait for the images to come back from the investigation to know what the cause is, Carolyn. There's not much time left, and I don't have much hope that it can be stopped due to my foolish actions when I was younger."

The one-time pilot turned the emissary toward her; "We all make mistakes in our youth, all of us. If something or someone can stop it, then there is still hope, Aereon. You are making this sound like the end of the 'Verse as we know it."

"It might very well be. You see, I know these – beings. I've seen them, their ships, and their battles… The destruction they bring. And I knew back then that there was only one thing that could stop them. They go by many names, Carolyn, but only one is their true name. By the superstitious they are called 'The Hood of the Devil'. By those who lose contact with loved ones on distant worlds never knowing why, their name is 'The Great Silence'. By those who have seen the towering statues left behind on dead planets, they're called 'The End'," Aereon gave the blonde woman a gentle squeeze before stepping away.

Carolyn turned as the misty form moved away from the window and settled down on the couch, looking tired and stressed. Questions plagued her mind but she knew better than to interrupt.

"But all can agree on this - they're a plague that now sweeps through the ever-dwindling worlds of man," Aereon stated nearly in a whisper. "Were they once men themselves? Are they still men? And do they think of themselves as part of the grand era they have devoted themselves to eradicating? Can this really be their faith?"

"What are you trying to say, Aereon? These worlds, these dead settlements, have fallen to a religious jihad?"

The Elemental looked at her, "Hard to say. Even I, one of the few people to have ever encountered a Necromonger and lived to speak of it, even I don't pretend to fathom them. Truly, you must be a Necromonger before you can understand the Necromonger way."

Carolyn stared at her lover feeling a rising flutter in her gut that she couldn't pin down the cause of. Something about this made her panic. Knowing the name they called themselves didn't help. Instead it made it more real, more threatening. Her mouth worked like a fish gasping out of water.

"Yet there's one thing I do know," Aereon gave her a wan smile, "One thing I calculate to be true. There is a balance to everything in the universe, and the balance to the Necromongers are Furyans."

Fry paled. Her silent gaping gave way to one word, "What?" It seemed as if the floor was opening up and swallowing her.

"How many Furyans still exist, Carolyn? Do you know where they might be found?" The two women locked eyes. Aereon could tell that Carolyn knew something. The knowledge was evident in her shocked expression.

How to lie, now, if she hoped to keep this relationship? Carolyn Fry knew she couldn't. But she also couldn't break her promise to Richard. She felt tears in her eyes, "I – I can't. I promised, Aereon. I – owe too much to them to say anything that might put them in danger."

"Are they not already in danger, Carolyn? Just by virtue of their survival, by the very blood that flows through their veins, they are endangered. Do you think that the rest of the 'Verse will fall but they will survive? It's simply not possible. The will be found, with or without what you know. If they are found sooner then perhaps there's a hope that the battle can be joined at their choosing, not at the enemy's. Of course finding them is only half the task. If they can be compelled to act, well.… These are the questions that the whole universe now hinges on."

Carolyn took a deep breath. Riddick was going to slit her throat when he found out that she said anything. She squeezed her eyes closed, "Imam Abu al-Walid knows. That girl, Audrey, was half-Furyan. Abu was fairly sure that the man she left Helion with was full blood Furyan. But as for where they were to have gone, only he knows. I told them not to tell me. I didn't want the Company to get the information about their location from me. It was better that I not know."

"This Audrey is the same one that is in Kovan Penal?"

Fry nodded, unable to meet Aereon's eyes and chewing on her lip as she did so.

"That can't be, Carolyn. The Audrey Johnastein on file there has no Furyan biodata in her profile."

Shocked blue eyes finally focused on the Elemental. Carolyn blinked. Did Jackie pull the same trick with her own identity that she'd managed for Richard? If so, then Who was it in that Kovan prison?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Kyra's life took on a pattern, one that she mentally lifted herself above. The wound healed. The servicing trips happened on a bi-weekly basis. She had no idea why she had trouble getting into the 'Goll religious services, but she had a feeling that it had to do with money being made by Willis over her trips out of double max. She kept trying, week after week to get the 'Golls to notice her. And week after week they passed her by. She was getting more than a little pissed over it. Her plan of escape hinged on getting into those services…

She lost track of time. Unsure of how long she'd been there, not being seen by any hacks at all for any reason because the "client" didn't want her touched by them, Kyra had to rely on the cures provided by Charlie for her various bruises, cuts, wounds, burns, and illnesses she suffered through because of the rough treatment she was receiving. But internally it toughened her. It forged her soul into tempered steel. It made her more tolerant of pain. And she forced herself to continue her fighting inside the double-max, kicking and clawing her way to the top of the chain… and she took Charlie with her. Soon Charlie controlled much of the resources. Having it all though seemed to mellow him some. He was more generous because he knew he had plenty for himself. Life almost became pleasant for most folks under Charlie. Kyra still had to deal with the guards, though.

She learned to move lightening fast, with cat-like grace. She learned how to make the guards fuck up and hurt each other before catching her. Each time they went to take her for servicing it got harder. Eventually it got so hard that guards started dying. She killed without remorse. Heavier guards were brought in. Even they had trouble. The armor that protected them also made them slow. Slow enough that even when she felt sick she could slip away to places where they couldn't get at her. It passed like that for several weeks with the guards unable to catch her. But the illness she felt did not go away. She tried to hide the signs, but Charlie noticed them. The weeks stretched into a month… then the month into two. Finally Charlie came to her with a rare token from the 'Goll priesthood. A guaranteed acceptance into the next service. He pressed it into her hands. "Take it, get the fuck out, Kyra… Or in six months you'll be sorry."

"You're coming with me…"

"No. I'd slow you down. Go on. Get in line. They have to take you. Just show them the token."

"You're fucking coming with me, Charlie!" Kyra gripped his collar with her free hand. He shook his head. "Why not?" Her fingers held the token tightly.

"Oh, come on. You can't really not know what is going on." He put his hand under her chin. The look in his eyes scared her. Suddenly she figured it out… she backed up and shook her head. "Go on, Kyra. You don't want to have it here… Dr. Torture will make you watch while he does the most horrific things to it. I know. I've been here long enough to see what he does."

She swallowed and headed off to the lineup for the 'Goll services. It was early still. The maze was dark and quiet. She reached the lineup point and the handful of others desperate enough to want out or brainwashed enough to believe the Rychengoll religious bullshit were not happy about her arrival. She stared at them and took her place. After a few hours one of the Brothers came out and walked the line. He, like others of his religion, wore charcoal gray flowing robes. Where you got in line didn't seem to matter. He skipped the first 3 people, touched the man next to her in line, looked at her and started to pass. She held up the token, "Hey…" He stopped and glanced back at her. It took him a moment to see the token. A frown crossed his face before he touched her. Kyra turned and followed the man that had been admitted seconds before. It was the first time she'd gone through the door into the worship hall.

Her eyes scanned the room. It was clean, unlike the rest of double max. Heavy wooden seats with odd-looking attachments on top of them formed neat rows across the concrete floor. There was no pulpit, nor a single sign that this room was used for worship. She followed the first inmate and took the chair next to him.

He looked over at her, "Whatever you do, don't scream… They kick out the screamers."

She nodded at him.

He turned to look toward the front mumbling, "If you are lucky they will hook you up first…"

With her eyes focused straight ahead, she listened as the other inmates slowly filed into the room in a trickle. The other 'Goll priests' softly clad feet whispered across the floor while the convicts' loud footfalls seemed almost rude in comparison. Kyra watched them mill about as the seats filled behind her. Part of her would rejoice to discover that God really existed… not that she believed that He did so in the way that the Rychengolls claimed. What type of god demanded what the Breathen displayed? Their blind faces showed evidence that they large knives had been used to remove their eyes. Cut scars indicated that each orb had been stabbed more than once. She guessed that it had been self-inflicted. The flesh where the eyes had been was mangled and roughly healed over. But that was not the most horrific thing about the pair settled in the front and center of the room – no, and Kyra could not think of much else that was more so, even with everything she'd been through. The two Breathen were connected like freakish Siamese twins, back to back, sharing a cybernetic nervous system the undoubtedly eliminated any problems caused by the blindness. 'Did the pair have any free will at all?' she wondered.

While the inmate besides her continued to babble, and Kyra easily tuned out the annoyance, she glanced over at him and nearly laughed out loud. His hands curled in a death grip on the chair, white knuckled even though he sounded calm. After being hit with high pressure, electrified, freezing cold water… what could be worse? One of them approached her and lowered the attachment over her head. It automatically adjusted to fit her head securely. She glanced up at the priest who seemed more intent on the machine over her head than her. After a moment's thought she decided to stay quiet.

"Please relax and look to the front of the room," she was ordered by a gentle but gruff voice. With effort she forced the tension out of her body. "Good…" A device was lowered over her eyes. What happened next was something she had never imagined could happen. The flat shield that blocked her vision also contained metal braces that mechanically fit over her eyes, forcing them open and unblinking. This was followed by long needles that slid into her eyes. She bit back the panic and pain, not sure if what she felt was horror induced or real. Kyra chided herself, 'You are tougher than this. No matter what these fuckers do to you, you can beat it. If this is the cost for freedom, then you can pay it.'

But what she saw… the visions that were fed into her mind, they shocked her with their cruel disregard for individuality. Part of her rebelled at the brainwashing attempts. The pain was easy to endure. She rode it like most would accept pleasure. After being raped, beaten, tortured by madmen… This pain was a little thing, so small and easy to endure. She had to play along, though. Freedom was worth acting like she believed the crap being piped into her brain. Freedom… if not for herself then for the innocent life Charlie believed she carried. Perhaps it would be easier to not have to pretend? Could she just slip into it? Could she believe? Kyra forced the thoughts away. It was a trap, only a way of changing one prison for another, and she couldn't do that.

Her mind was all she had left. She'd die before she lost it.