11. Jack: Going Under

They walked through one of the roughest crowds that Jack had ever seen in her life. She pressed herself closer to Riddick, not liking the looks she was getting. If it had been up to her, she'd have been halfway back to the ship by now. Only her trust in her friend sustained her. That, and his arm around her waist.

"Are you sure this is the way?" she asked again.

He nodded, parting the crowd and drawing her forward through it. He had his meanest face on, the one that gave even _her_ shivers. It was enough to get them through the mass of people without any trouble, but only just.

Finally he turned out of the thoroughfare and led her to the door of a building.

"You're kidding," she muttered, taking in the peeling paint on the bricks, the trash on the sidewalk. "This is it?"

"Best one in seven systems, 'Rebecca,'" he answered, simultaneously reminding her of her alias.

She had to admit that the interior was well-appointed, but it still had a shady feel to it. It didn't help that the waiting room was filled with hard men and bad women, most of whom seemed to fix on her as if a particularly tasty snack had been brought into the room.

Riddick kept her close as he headed for the nurse's station. A swing had appeared in his step as if he was showing off. The way everyone's eyes followed her was giving her the serious creeps. Riddick rapped on the station window.

The nurse behind the desk slid the window open. "Name?"

"Colin Tarsin," he answered, startling her. He sounded exactly like Zeke, suddenly. "And this is me bride, Rebecca. We're here to get 'er back in working order, if you get me meaning."

His grin was creepy. The nurse smiled in response, an insincere smile that never reached her eyes. "If you'll take a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly."

Riddick nodded and then led Jack to a nearby couch. He still walked with an odd swagger. Showing off... showing off what?

_Me,_ she realized. _He's flaunting his "bride." Shit, what kind of place *is* this?_

He pulled her into his lap as they sat down and wrapped his arms around her. His mouth was by her ear. "Don't talk, kid, just listen. I know you're scared, and that's okay, that's in character. I'll explain everything to you once we get set up in the treatment room. Promise." His fake goatee tickled her jaw as he talked.

The next hour, while they waited for their name to be called, was one of the longest and least comfortable Jack had experienced. The covert looks and outright stares had her on edge. She finally hid her face against Riddick's shoulder so she at least wouldn't have to see them, glad it was "in character."

Finally a door opened and a man said their name. "Tarsin." Riddick helped her to her feet and walked her to the doorway. She was embarrassed to realize she was actually shaking.

The man looked them over with disinterest and then led them to an elevator. He consulted his clipboard as they rode up it.

"You'll be in room 9C. The doctor will be with you in half an hour. That should give you plenty of time to get settled... or whatever." The last was said with a barely-concealed sneer.

Jack glanced up at Riddick and was disturbed to see him smirking. _He'd damned well better be playing his role,_ she thought.

Finally they reached Room 9C. Their guide gave each of them a key to the room and then pulled the door closed behind them, leaving them alone.

Jack sank down onto the foot of the bed. "Okay... I think you _really_ need to explain a few things to me."

Riddick nodded, but didn't begin speaking. Instead, he took out a small scanner and began walking around the room, passing it over and around the walls and furniture. Finally he seemed satisfied. "No surveillance devices. Good."

"Dammit, Riddick, what the fuck _is_ this place?"

"It's a Regen center," he answered, taking a chair across from her. "One of the best in the charted galaxy. We were lucky we were coming to Troubador anyway."

"Lucky! Did you _see_ those people? I felt like the fucking main course at a banquet hosted by the Marquis de Sade!"

"That's not an entirely inapt description, Jack. Most of the clientele that reproductive Regen centers get are of a pretty unsavory nature. Think about it."

She tried to, but all she could think about was the lascivious expressions that had been thrown her way. Finally she shrugged, looking at Riddick expectantly.

He sighed. "Okay. Regen clinics are technically illegal. If you give it some thought, you'll see why. In order to perform regenerative work, they have to use stem cells. There's still only two sources of those -- aborted fetuses and illegal cloning. All of this happens under the table, but it's very much part of life in the underground."

"That doesn't explain people looking at me like I'm the Dish of the Day," she snapped. "Why couldn't we go to one of the legitimate clinics? I know they exist."

He sighed again. "First, someone might have noticed that your injuries were an exact match for a certain young lady who's _supposed_ to be dead. This kind of place doesn't ask as many questions. Did you notice the women here? What would you say their mean age is?"

"I don't know... forties?"

"Most of them probably aren't even thirty yet, Jack. They're mostly from brothels. They were sold to the trade as kids and were sterilized for it. Hysterectomies, so they'd be able to work all month without time off for bleeding. Now they've lost their looks and aren't turning a profit for the brothels anymore." He shrugged. "So they get sold as mail-order brides to men heading for the frontiers, and they come here to have their sterilizations reversed so they can be breeders."

"That's horrible!"

"Life in the big bad galaxy, Jack. Anyway, they're not used to getting many customers as... fresh-looking as you. Most of the guys down there were wondering how much I had to pay to get you, probably."

"Jesus, Riddick, that's sick." She rubbed at her forehead, feeling the start of a headache.

"Jack, you're going to have to get used to some of this. You chose this life before we ever met, you know. Some of these are places you could easily have ended up in. We both know that the cheapest commodity around, on any planet, is a human life." He came over and sat down next to her, resting his hand on her knee. "I'm not going to hide this stuff from you. You want to be safe, you need to know what's out there looking to take a bite."

She nodded. She'd known some of this, really. It was why she'd spent her years on the run masquerading as a boy. Not that boys never got eaten alive, but they weren't quite the same automatic targets that girls on their own were. She still didn't know how, exactly, Riddick had seen through her disguise. Even her best friends on the "streets" hadn't known what she really was.

"So are all brothels like that? Staffed by slave labor?"

"No, not all, but enough."

"What about the kind you go to?"

"Shit, Jack, I thought you didn't want me to talk about that kind of stuff." She stared at him for a long moment until he relented. "No. I like women happy to see me."

She watched him for another long moment. He raised his eyebrows at her, encouraging her to challenge his assertion. Finally she let it slide.

"I'll just be glad when this is over and we're out of here. I feel like I have a fucking bulls-eye painted on me."

He took her hand and they sat in silence until the doctor arrived. It was a woman, for which Jack was infinitely thankful. She went into the bathroom and changed into the gown she'd been given while the doctor talked to Riddick.

"...may notice some behavioral changes in her as her body adjusts. She may display unusual sensitivities for a while," the doctor was saying to Riddick as she emerged from the bathroom.

"Sensitivities? To what?" she asked.

"Stressors, mostly," the doctor answered gently. "Physical and emotional stresses may trigger heightened reactions for a while. That's all. Now, if you'll lie down on the bed, we'll begin your treatment."

Shit, she'd known it would start fast, but... She shot a panicked look at Riddick, who was getting up off of the bed. "Don't leave."

"Wouldn't think of it," he said mildly. He hooked a chair over to the side of the bed, out of the way of the doctor's equipment.

The doctor looked oddly touched. Jack supposed that she rarely saw actual affection or caring displayed between the client pairs she worked with. How many of those men she'd seen downstairs saw their "wives" as real people?

Riddick helped her get comfortable on the bed. She snagged his hand and wouldn't let go. He grinned and enveloped her hand in both of his. "You're going to be fine, Rebecca," he told her gently.

Damn, she wished he could say her real name. Something cold and wet was being swabbed on the inside of her elbow. She kept her eyes on Riddick, not wanting to look. Then she felt the sting of a hypo.

Slowly, the world fuzzed out for her.