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Night Vision	By : ehiltebe Category: M through R > Pitch Black Views: 1117 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Black. All I can claim is Eileen, really; all else is borrowed, and profits me not at all!

Chapter List
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Chapter Three
Before long, I realize there’s a whole ‘nother world over there, on th’ other side of th’ cliffs. A world of water, grass, an’ life, more than enough for me t’ thrive, instead of this subsistence I’m ekin’ out here. Enough t’ hone th’ whole animal, not just th’ side that lashes out at anythin’ remotely resemblin’ a threat.
There’s just one obstacle in my way. Since th’ mudbugs’re venomous an’ th’ one big bastard pretty much guards th’ stair, I’ve gotta build up an immunity. So I need t’ be in top physical shape, an’ I need a test subject.
First, I catch some eels from th’ hot pools. Doesn’t hurt that th’ water helps relax my muscles. Scrounge up some old mudbug tails an’ use ‘em t’ mark out what I’m claimin’ as my territory. Eel skins make a fair leather-like material, an’ th’ stomachs’re surprisingly large. I turn one into a water bag while I smoke th’ hides an’ meat, an’ set another aside for later.
A stray mudbug tail-spike turns into a decent cup, an’ a stripped-down ribcage is roomy enough t’ hold a critter. I lash th’ bones together just in case, an’ go lookin’ for a den. Followin’ a group of dog-things leads t’ three pups, just weaned. They’re asleep after th’ adults leave, an’ I grab th’ runt. Once he wakes up in th’ cage, I can see that one eye is a lighter color than th’ other as he drinks a little water.
Next, I catch one of th’ small mudbugs an’ take it back t’ my lair alive. Milkin’ its venom gives me a few milliliters of fluid, an’ I attach one of its teeth t’ th’ eel stomach I saved, makin’ sure it ain’t gonna leak. Th’ pup gets a little dose of venom, collapses an’ twitches for at least an hour. But he wakes up, grouchy, an’ snaps at me when I offer some dried eel. I growl back; he’s gotta understand who’s in charge around here.
Th’ next day, he ain’t showin’ any negative side effects, so I tie a tourniquet on my arm an’ inject myself. Hurts like a bitch, an’ makes me puke before I lose consciousness. I come back around near sunset; half th’ day gone while I was out.
I put th’ dog an’ myself through a dozen rounds of venom, th’ effects getting’ much weaker toward th’ end. Weapon creation occupies much of my time between injections. Th’ one I like best is a giant Stone-Age-tech switchblade. Big femur-type bone with a groove cut down th’ middle, an’ a knapped blade from a huge piece of black flint. A piece of a stick works as a hinge pin at one end.
Finally, th’ day comes when I’m ready t’ face th’ big bastards an’ get up those stairs. Th’ pup barks at me as I leave my temporary shelter, loaded up with my supply of dried eel. I glance back at him, then turn toward the mudholes.
Takes me a couple of minutes t’ get th’ attention of th’ mudbug in th’ big puddle. Its tail-head swings at me twice, an’ each time I whack it with my folded-up switchblade. Then th’ rest of th’ ugly fucker pops up, sinkin’ its teeth into my thigh. I flick th blade out an’ cut th’ body away from th’ mouth with three hits, then wrench it outta my leg.
That’s when th’ damn pup starts barkin’. It’s got a couple of little bugs wavin’ tail-heads at it from a small puddle, darin’ ‘em t’ try an’ get him. I can’t help th’ laugh that comes outta me.
“Escape artist, huh?” At th’ sound of my voice, th’ dog turns his attention t’ me an’ scampers my way. “Too damn cute for your own good.” Hell. Eileen would kill me if I left him here; he’s got exactly zero survival skills. I take one step before I hear a loud, deep hiss, th’ deepest I’ve heard yet. An’ deeper means bigger.
I get halfway turned around before th’ fucker smacks me. Knocks me clear off my feet, an’ I end up hittin’ a boulder. Thing’s near twice th’ size of th’ one I just killed, an’ th’ damn dog just stands there, barkin’ his head off, as th’ mudbug stands all the way up. I see just one way t’ get past this monster.
Collectin’ my switchblade, I run toward th’ dog an’ scoop him up with my right arm. Then, as I hit th’ edge of th’ water, my legs fold so I start hydroplanin’ straight at th’ beast. I’m goin’ just a bit too fast for it t’ get me, an’ I raise th’ switchblade t’ slice its stomach as I slide. Th’ mudbug’s distracted by its own blood an’ entrails as th’ pup an’ I fetch up against th’ bottom stair. I scramble up a few steps before turnin’ t’ see th’ fuckin’ bug stupidly eatin’ itself. Won’t be standin’—or livin’—much longer.
“Close one,” I comment t’ th’ dog. He looks up at me, thin tail thumpin’ against my hip as it wags, an’ promptly sneezes in my face. Some kinda gratitude.
Oh well. I should have plenty of time t’ train him better.
~*~
“Fuckin’ skinflints.” Jack was distinctly unhappy with how little we’d finally gotten for the Necro shuttle. I put an arm over her shoulder and squeezed gently. She had a point, though.
What we’d gotten wasn’t enough for passage to another major port unless we split up, and that just wasn’t going to happen. We needed to find a way to make more money, or find someone willing to trade passage for our skills. On a planet full of bounty hunters, that could be problematical; we’d have to be very specific about what skills were on offer, and what wasn’t.
“We’ll manage somehow,” I insisted. One of my gut instincts—the foreseeing ability Niklas said I’d gotten from my mother—was quite certain that our next step toward finding my mate was on this planet. “We are going to find Rick.” Even though this step alone had taken six months.
“I know that, Eileen.” My sister elbowed me lightly. “Keep your screws tight an’ help me figure out how t’ get off this rock.” I growled softly in response, then steered Jack toward a bar. We needed to be in there in the next five minutes, for some reason.
“Your ‘Boss’ is fuckin’ nuts, man,” someone growled from one corner of the taproom. I settled into a tall chair with a glass of water to eavesdrop.
“All I know is that it’s personal for him.” The reply came from a dark-skinned man in a tidy, well-kept navy blue set of gear. “Doesn’t get in th’ way of takin’ jobs, he just keeps an ear out. That business in Helion got him awful hot under th’ collar.”
“An invasion had better get people riled,” someone else groused. “Shouldn’t need a con’s name attached to it.”
“From what we heard, nobody would’ve known about it at all if he hadn’t been involved, though.” This came from the only female in the group, a dark blonde with gear that looked similar to the darker man’s. “For once, it seems he did everyone a favor, poppin’ up where an’ when he did.”
“Am I imaginin’ things, or are they talkin’ ‘bout who I think they are?” my sister whispered.
“I believe they are.”
“Fuckin’ dangerous target your captain’s picked," the first man complained again. “He thinks four of ya c’n take Riddick? Bigger teams’ve tried an’ failed.”
“Boss keeps us well-armed an’ -armored for a reason.” The blonde sneered. “Th’ idiots he’s offed were hastily thrown together, didn’t work as proper teams.”
“Exactly.” Her comrade tossed back his drink and stood. “I don’t think Boss would turn help away, but they’d hafta be up t’ his standards.”
“Ethically, as well as physically.” The woman followed suit. “Let’s get outta here, Moss.”
As the pair walked out, I gave Jack a speaking look, and she huffed.
“Shoulda told me ya had a hunch.”
“It got specific rather quickly.” I took a swig from my glass. “Now we have a name an’ a handle, an’ we know they’ve got standards. Unusual, in their business.”
“Damn straight. First time I’ve heard a merc use th’ word ‘ethically’.” She laid her arms on the little table we’d claimed. “We gonna join up with ‘em?”
“If he’s really that hot about catchin’ Rick but still tight-laced about how he runs his outfit, could be our ticket.”
“I’ll follow ‘em, then do a little diggin’. Catch ya back here in an hour?” At my nod, the brunette abandoned her chair and water, already thinking in ‘mission’ mode.
I sighed, gripping my glass almost too tightly.
We’re comin’, babe. Hell or high water.
~*~
Marcus had intended to distract himself with the rummage sale. A handful of items had far exceeded that goal; he’d even needed to hide his excitement as he’d gathered them and approached the station worker in charge of the event.
He paid a pittance for objects that, to a Furyan, were worth a fortune.
~These must have belonged to Eileen’s mother,~ he thought. A smooth, rounded piece of what looked like stone, an elaborately carved baton, and a leather satchel that felt like something should be inside, but appeared empty. Only a Furyan would have seen the secrets hidden within the unassuming items.
Once he had them safe in his room, Marcus began with the bag, opening pockets so cleverly concealed that they’d been missed entirely. Their contents might look like random odds and ends to normal humans, but he understood their true value. They were the treasures of the families their previous owner had been connected to, and two of them absolutely confirmed his suspicions.
Four were tiny, carved animals. A tiny, fox-like creature—a brush-fox—and a larger, spiky felinoid—a spine-cat. The Veruna line had led the Brush-Fox Pack, and Eileen physically resembled some of the Fayrens he had once known, whose family had led the Spine-Cat Pack. The other two icons represented the Ground-Owl and Scale-Wolf Packs, which had been guided by the Trachens and Riddicks, respectively. The bloodlines of his Alphas, almost certainly.
The distinctive rings of Pack leaders—nearly a dozen of those, incredibly—and the Chief Alpha’s signet tumbled from another pocket; normals would value the stones and precious metals highly, but not as much as the ancient heirlooms truly deserved. The baton, too, was a Furyan relic of sorts, the official symbol of the Optio, right-hand Pack Leader to the Chief Alpha. The Council must have known that the homeworld was doomed, if they had sent such treasures away with Lady Veruna.
And the ‘stone’… Marcus’ fingers drew an intricate pattern on its surface, and symbols lit up, flashing orange.
~A distress call?~ He frowned, a bit startled. It couldn’t be the Alphas or his niece; they’d never seen a Furyan communicator, let alone used one. That left either the new pack member or a complete unknown, and the planet described as the transmission’s source favored the former.
A member of the Pack needed help, and the Beta was probably the only person who knew about it.
Time to get James’ assistance.
~*~
Tucked into a strip of fabric wrapped around his waist, Niklas’ communicator burbled, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders that had nothing to do with the metal sheet he was dragging. Someone had gotten his message; any more detailed reply would take some time to arrive.
The other end of his physical burden rose, and the Omega glanced over his shoulder reflexively. The spine-cat returned his gaze calmly. It seemed to have adopted him, assisting wherever it could.
Niklas had never heard of such behavior among any of the totem species. Perhaps this was a change wrought by decades of pestering criminals on Crematoria. They all seemed to be even smarter than he remembered. Would the other species be similarly affected when they were rediscovered?
He shook his head. Woolgathering when he needed to be working on the domicile he’d chosen for his temporary home. Baffles against the too-bright, too-harsh sunslight was his current project, trying to diffuse what came in through the windows.
His job now was to survive so that the other Furyan—whoever it was—would have someone to rescue.
~*~
Stepping closer to the lean merc, she cleared her throat. The woman whipped around, one hand going to an empty holster as she focused on Jack. A moment later, she relaxed, having quickly assessed the situation and deciding there wasn’t a threat.
“I heard your boss has standards for possible recruits.” Given the apparent tension, it was probably better to get straight to the point.
“You interested in signin’ up?” the blonde replied.
“Me an’ my sister, possibly. If it looks like we can agree on ethics.” That certainly got the Merc’s full attention, as she turned to fully face the younger brunette. “We usually can’t stand the average merc.”
“Then you already have somethin’ in common with us. No drugs, no beatin’ on paydays, no startin’ fights—we only finish ‘em.” Jack nodded. “An’ Boss only goes after marks that’re a genuine threat t’ society. Checks out records first.”
“Pretty sure Eileen an’ I can live with that.” In fact, it sounded downright reasonable.
“Trainin’s his other big thing.”
“We’re both proficient with firearms an’ melee edged weapons. Unarmed hand-t’-hand, too, from former Company trainers.”
“I’ll talk t’ Boss, see what he says. Got a comm number?” The woman smiled slightly. “I’m Dahl, by th’ way.”
“Jack.” She rattled off the combination to the comm they’d bought right after they sold the Necro shuttle. “Hear from ya soon?”
“Absolutely.”
~God, I hope Eileen’s right ‘bout these people leadin’ us t’ Rick.~ Dahl seemed like a surprisingly decent sort, for a merc.
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Night Vision