18. Riddick: Stray Kittens

He caught her quickly and dragged her over to the sink, pulling her hair away from her face. He barely got her there in time before she vomited up her unwanted breakfast. He held her while she continued to dry-heave, disgusted with himself. He should have known better than to start her on solid foods. Damned stupid

Come to think of it, what the hell was he doing, taking in another stray kitten? He'd been this route before and it always ended badly. He didn't want her to end up like Jessie, or Morgan, for god's sake, did he.

He could still remember Jessie's first day in Slam. Poor kid was only fifteen, didn't belong there, didn't deserve it. He'd gotten caught up in something big and vile, and he was the only one of his little gang who didn't have the money or the connections to get himself out. So he'd ended up taking the fall for everybody, like it or not. So there he was, surrounded by the worst of the worst in eleven star systems, a scrawny, frightened kid who wasn't going to last more than a week, tops. Some sick fuck's idea of justice.

Riddick had taken him in.

It was probably because Jessie reminded him of himself, he reflected. The way he'd been when his own career in the correctional system began in earnest. And it was time to pay forward an old favor, anyway.

The boy had been terrified of him, at first. Not that Riddick blamed him. He'd done nothing to discourage the illusion that he'd taken some kind of sick shine to the kid. Finally, Jessie had snapped, shouting at him to get it the fuck over with, do whatever the hell it was he wanted to do.

"And what would that be, Jessie?" He'd asked quietly. The boy, it turned out, had a vivid and neurotic imagination. Some of the horrors he'd conceived of surprised even Riddick, who had seen almost everything by then.

"That's not what I want, kid," he'd replied, and proceeded to tell the boy almost exactly what Mustafa had told him seven years ago. "You're not gonna last long in this place the way you are now, you know. Not your fault, but you're just not strong enough to make it. Not yet. So I'm gonna watch out for you until you are."

"So why does everybody out there think I'm your bitch?" The kid demanded.

"Well, if they think you're mine... they're not going to try to make you theirs, now are they?"

They'd ended up friends, something like brothers. Riddick had taught Jessie the secret arts and crafts of institutional life, from knife-making to some of the most lethal forms of martial arts ever discovered. They'd started collecting cigarettes so Jessie could get his eyes altered. He'd grown fond of the boy. Too fond. The day he found Jessie's battered, lifeless body in the showers had been the second-worst day of his life.

Riddick had taken out challengers to his authority before. Several times, actually. He had no qualms about X-ing out his fellow inmates. But none of them had ever tried to hit at him through someone else before. Probably because there hadn't been someone they could use that way until then. He knew who was behind it immediately. He also knew that his challenger was trying to provoke him into doing something rash, out of anger and grief.

He waited, instead. And first he killed every single one of the man's supporters and followers. The man himself -- Ace something, he no longer remembered or cared -- he saved for last. And longest. Ace took five days to die. That was when the rumors about him started in earnest. The ones that claimed he drank blood and practiced cannibalism. The rumors that followed him around the galaxy after he made his successful bid for freedom.

None of it made Jessie any less dead. Even the darkest, bloodiest deeds of revenge had been unable to assuage that emptiness. He'd told himself he'd never let anybody get that far inside him again.

So what the fuck was he doing now.

19. Iman: Guidance

He was sitting over Ali's grave, praying, when Riddick's shadow fell across him. He looked up warily, trying to guess what the man might want from him. Riddick didn't seem the kind who'd come looking for spiritual guidance.

"Got a problem, Holy Man," he said, then sat down across the grave from him, legs crossed.

"How can I be of service, Mr. Riddick?" He kept his reply formal.

"Well, I figure you're about the only person who isn't afraid to be alone with me right now, with one other exception. And that's the problem." He leaned forward, face serious. "Fiona's sick."

Imam blinked. There was no possible way of that -- it was far too soon for her to be --

Belatedly he realized that Riddick did not mean the girl was pregnant. He chided himself for jumping to such an extravagant conclusion. It was only that their involvement had been so obvious -- and so shocking -- to everyone.

"What is wrong with her?"

"Just grief, I think, but that's enough. She's gonna do some damage to herself if she doesn't get help. She can't eat. She hasn't been able to keep anything down since the crash, 'cept water."

Imam studied Riddick's face, bemused. There was genuine concern lurking behind the man's tough-guy stance. Riddick was afraid for the girl. Suddenly Johns' assertions at the breakfast table seemed hollow. Untrue, unkind. There was more to Mr. Riddick than Johns was saying.

"How can I help?" He asked.

"I'm no healer, Father. This is new territory for me. I know she probably needs fluids right now. Broth and stuff, until her stomach can handle solid food. But that's no cure for grief."

"There are only two cures for that, Mr. Riddick."

The man looked up, intent. This really matters to him, Imam thought, increasingly impressed.

"And what would those be?"

"Time. And compassion."

Out of the corner of his eye, Imam could see Hassan and Suleiman watching the two of them uneasily. Suleiman was fingering a makeshift weapon. If Riddick noticed, he made a point of ignoring it.

Finally, the big man sighed and hauled himself to his feet. "Guess I'll start with the broth."

Imam rose as well. "Would you like some assistance?"

"I'd love it, actually. I'm probably the galaxy's shittiest cook."

They turned and walked back toward the settlement together, to make broth. Imam considered it a fine beginning.

20. Fiona: Ends and Beginnings

She probably should feel humiliated, but she didn't. After she'd thrown up, Riddick had cleaned her up carefully, then carried her back to the room they'd slept in. He'd told her it was his fault, that he'd been stupid. Then he'd had her drink the rest of the water in the canteen and tucked the sheets around her. He'd told her -- very firmly -- that she was not to get out of bed until he returned.

Not that she planned to. She felt immobile and empty.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she'd whispered to him before he left.

"I do," he'd answered. His hand had caressed her cheek one final time as he rose. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. I'm gonna make sure of it."

Outside the room there was almost no noise. Just the wind and the occasional, indistinct sound of a human voice. So different from anything she'd ever known. She missed New Belfast more than she'd ever expected to.

It had been the opportunity of a lifetime, of course, even if it had meant leaving behind everything she and her family had known. Scholarships to the Royal Academy of the Arts on Earth were prizes beyond compare when you lived in a hardscrabble Irish mining colony. More astounding was the fact that she and Maggie had both earned them -- Maggie in Drama, of course, and Fiona in Classical Composition. There had been no question about taking them ("Even if the place is run by the bloody Brits," her brother had groused), even if it meant leaving behind the only world she had ever known.

That was her refrain. She didn't know where she was. Nothing was familiar; nothing made sense.

She missed green things, hills and mist and the sound of New Ireland Starlings mimicking human speech. She missed the sound of people coming and going outside of her window in the village, the cadence of Gaelic as they spoke to one another, and waking up to the sound of Early Morning Mass from the church across the street.

She missed her parents, and Maggie and Liam. Sudden loneliness speared through her, making darkness swim before her eyes. She'd never get to see a movie starring Margaret Cavanaugh, now. It would never happen. She would never learn who in her family would have won the bet over exactly how tall Liam was going to grow. Never again would her mother's sweet contralto echo through the house singing Celtic love songs. And she'd never, ever hear her father's voice booming through the house at the end of the day: "Where are m'three genius children, then?"

She'd thought that their lives were about to truly start -- they all had -- but instead they had come to a bloody, fiery end.

That was what was wrong with her, she realized, even as the ache sank deep into her chest and began to devour her. That was what Riddick knew. But she had no idea how he could possibly fix it.

"Are you okay, Fiona?" Jack's voice was hesitant. Fiona glanced over at the doorway and the girl silhouetted there.

"Not really," she answered, surprised by the lifelessness of her voice.

Jack hurried over to the bed, worry plain on her face. "Is it Riddick? Did he do something to you?"

"Oh no, Jack!" It was odd how even the mention of the man could draw her back into the world of the living. Life had flowed back into her voice. "He's been wonderful to me, he really has."

"But..." Jack stammered. "You were limping at breakfast, I saw you. And they were saying..." The girl's resolve faltered.

"What did they say, Jack?" she prodded gently.

"They said he'd raped you. They made me and Imam's boys leave the room before they'd talk about it, but I listened through one of the windows and they were saying... Johns was saying... that Riddick probably cut you up some."

Fiona could see Jack's eyes returning, over and over, to the sheet's bloody corner. She made herself sit up, and reach out to the younger girl.

"He didn't," she said firmly. "I know you're looking at the blood and wondering about it, so I'll tell you. I was a virgin until this morning, Jack. That's all. Are you still one?"

Jack nodded.

"Well, it can be quite painful the first time, for some women. Not for all, but for the women in my family it's always been something of a trial. When my sister lost hers, she walked strangely and bled for more than a week afterwards. He was very gentle with me, I promise you. It hurt, but nowhere near as much as I feared it would."

"So... why were you crying, just now?"

"I was crying for my family, Jack. I miss them. Everything that made up my life is suddenly gone. It hurts more than you can possibly imagine. There's no mere physical pain to compare to it."

"So Riddick didn't hurt you?"

"Not at all, Jack. He was very kind to me. I promise you that's the truth."

"But what about all the horrible things he's done? Aren't you scared of him at all?"

"Perhaps I should be," Fiona answered slowly, "but I'm not. I trust him. I think I trust him more than anyone else here, with the possible exception of you and Imam, and maybe Shazza."

"You trust him more than Johns?"

"Definitely. That man makes me very nervous, Jack. I don't know why."

"Yeah, he creeps me out, too. But Fry and Shazza are nice. Paris is a dick, though."

Fiona was surprised to hear herself laugh in response.