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Faint Premonition	By : ehiltebe Category: M through R > Pitch Black Views: 2132 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: In no way do I own any part of Pitch Black, its setting, or its characters, and I make no money from this work. I just get to play with them.

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Well, another Wednesday is here, and with it another chapter. The action picks up a bit here, and I'm hoping you'll like it. Much thanks to bloodravyn for your reviews, and also to Lynx and Vince for being my patient beta readers. Enjoy!
Faint Premonition

A Pitch Black Alternate Universe

Chapter Four

I considered simply dropping to the ground from my perch on the hull. A lot of small, jagged bits of the ship littered the ground there, though, so I followed the others instead. The kid noticed me dragging my bags along and slowed down.

“Lemme help.” She tried the duffel with my weapons first, her eyes nearly popping out when she could barely move it. I smiled sheepishly and offered her the straps of the other one.

“Sorry, this one’s got all the hardware.” She frowned, but hefted the lighter bag and started to catch up. With a grunt, I copied her.

Fry and Johns had stopped just inside the pod, right against the bend, and were having a quiet, intense conversation as the girl and I approached. I listened in avidly; it’s fun having extra-sharp ears when no one else around knows about them.

“He just escaped from a maximum-security prison.”

“So do we just keep him locked up forever?”

“Well, that would be my choice.”

“Is he really that dangerous?”

“Only around humans.”

I nearly laughed aloud, and just managed to squash the grin that wanted to break out across my face. Only one man fit the appearance I’d noticed when boarding and the characteristics the merc had just sketched out: the infamous Richard B. Riddick. And only one merc was crazy enough to try moving the man on anything but their own personal ship: William “The Conqueror” Johns. A genuine Grade-A asshole if ever there was one.

Someone had started a pool at the Icarus branch of Meyer, Meyer, and Trent on how long Riddick would let Johns chase him before turning around and putting the former MP out of our misery. I hadn’t chipped in, but I knew Jamie had, and he hadn’t told me what he’d put his money on. The blond bounty hunter didn’t seem to care who got trampled in his quest for ‘glory,’ so long as he got the credit. Despite that, the Merc Guild had protected him from prosecution without good, hard evidence.

Acting as if I hadn’t noticed the pair, let alone overheard them, I swung my ‘hardware’ duffel onto a locker that had landed on its side, then helped the kid lift the other the last little bit. An eager gleam lit her greenish eyes as I pulled out the armored back plate that held Dextra and Sinistra, my sheathed daggers, but it turned into a slight pout when I closed that bag back up. Instead, I opened the one with the supplies and set out the water jug, the big bottle of sunscreen, and the regular sunglasses. The gruesome twosome joined us just as I clipped one of the canteens to my belt.

“You’re shockingly well-prepared.” Johns sneered at me and reached for a dagger hilt. I stopped him by grabbing one of his fingers and twisting it back toward his wrist on the wrong side of his hand, about a centimeter from the bumpy leather wrapping the grip. He winced.

“I was supposed to be meeting some friends for an extreme mountain climbing expedition.” My voice dripped saccharine as I made up the story on the spot. Slipping the leather-skinned panel behind me, I did up the buckles rapidly—strap across the hips, ones going from end to end of each sheath, and the one that went in front of my arms and behind my neck. Now I had slightly flexible protection from between my shoulderblades all the way down to my hips, preventing blades and bullets from hitting my innards from behind.

“Sports. How… lovely.” I shrugged at the balding man, and he straightened his glasses. “Paris P. Ogilvie. Antiquities dealer, entrepreneur.”

“Eileen Bergenhaus. Adrenaline junkie, criminologist.” I shook his hand firmly, and then turned to the girl.

“Jack B. Badd.” I echoed her grin.

The little nudge was enough to start the others on introductions. Zeke and Shazza were part-time prospectors and part-time bushwhackers. Imam Abu al-Walid had been charged with chaperoning the boys on their hajj to New Mecca. As they spoke no English, he pointed out Suleiman, the oldest, Hassan, and Ali, the youngest of the three brothers. Johns, of course, volunteered no first name, while the pilot revealed that hers was Carolyn.

The two New Australians immediately began scrounging parts to make dispensers for the little cartridges of super-compressed oxygen I’d brought while the rest of us slathered on the protective lotion. I excused myself to ‘go put my bags up,’ and palmed the second set of heavy-duty shades as soon as I was out of their sight.

Granted, I was taking a risk by trusting Riddick, but I’d take him over a lunatic like Johns any day.

(Riddick)

Billy Bad-Ass got fuckin’ lucky.

If I’d had even one hand outta th’ damn cuffs, he’d be dead already. Instead, he got me with a groin shot while I was tryin’ to strangle ‘im. I’m as vulnerable t’ that as any other male.

So now I’m chained up again, my back against one of th’ ship’s ribs and my hands cuffed on th’ other side of it. Been workin’ on how to get enough leverage to break the links, if there ain’t a way of gettin’ things back in front of me so I can grab th’ cuttin’ torch someone left sittin’ nearby. Dumb move, whoever did it. After that, I can get rid of th’ fuckin’ blindfold and horse-bit.

I scent that half-familiar woman again: sweet, with a touch of vanilla, sweatin’ an’ oozin’ frustration. She opens up one of th’ cryo-lockers and dumps some stuff in. One bag makes a familiar thump—rifle case inside, most likely. Then she moves, and th’ tear in the black fabric lets me see her. She’s damn fine, with her short haircut an’ a real woman’s curves in contrast against her all-business, lean, muscled arms. Got some sorta strap arrangement across her stomach that makes her tits stand out a bit more. Wearin’ a pair of black fatigues that hang a little low on her hips, a knife hilt sticking out on either side of th’ waistband.

Lips that’re just a hair on th’ thin side curve up in a smirk as she leans in close. She presses somethin’ into my hand. Takes a second to identify it; the little jolt of electricity surprises me more than gettin’ any kind of help. Some sorta elastic band.

“Little bit of a fracture up there.” I raise an eyebrow. “Should be easy for someone tall like you to reach.” There’s a little laugh hidin’ in the words. Then she’s turnin’ away, and I see some sorta panel coverin’ her back, with them knives either in it or between it an’ her back. Armor, would be my guess. She pulls on th’ jacket I know is a match for her pants, even though it’s hot as fuckin’ Hades out. Probably to keep th’ sun off, though what kinda star puts out as much light as I saw without burning off the atmo, I don’t know. Round th’ corner, and she’s outta sight. But sure as hell not outta my mind.

Curiosity killed th’ cat, sure, but satisfaction brought th’ fucker back.

Outside the Wreck

Protected by sunscreen and sunglasses, we spread out in a line, ten meters apart. If we covered the full distance recommended by the bushwhackers, it would come to fifteen thousand square meters. The last survivor of the crash had to be somewhere in that area. But checking every piece of debris to see if we could use it made for slow going.

“Hey!” My head popped up at Jack’s shout. “Live one!” I headed for her position at a steady jog, the mouthpiece of the improvised breather between my teeth. Zeke got there at almost the same time as me, with Shazza close behind. The others didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

The kid had found a cryo-chamber partly buried in the churned-up dirt. The impact-resistant plexiglas of the door was so spider-webbed with cracks that I couldn’t see through it, but the occupant’s weak groans counted as a definite sign of life. I drew Sinistra—made to fit my left hand, hence the name—and began clearing the material away.

“He belted ‘imself in good an’ tight.” Zeke drew a small pickaxe from his tool belt and started helping. “Think you’re gonna need t’ cut ‘im loose.” With enough of the door removed for me to reach inside, I sawed at the heavy crash webbing.

Our rescue proved to be the Irishman I’d noticed when I boarded. A quick mental review told me that each passenger I’d actually looked at and not past had made it through the wreck. Interesting. Johns sauntered up just in time to haul the man out of the potential grave.

I grabbed the med-kit I’d left out as he was stretched on the sideways locker. The moment he could get away, the merc headed forward, toward the place where he’d left his bounty. I concentrated on dealing with the unconscious man; I estimated that he’d been thirty minutes from heatstroke, no more than that. Sudden cursing startled a giggle out of me that I quickly stifled. The blond man stormed around the corner, scowling.

“Anyone got any weapons in the cargo pod?” Among the murmured responses, I gave a completely honest negative; mine were in the remains of the passenger section. Confused looks went around the group. “One of you has to have something. Guns, knives, anything?”

“Ah, I may have some antiques.” Johns hustled Paris outside, trailed by the Muslims. I made sure to toss one of my canteens to the imam on his way out; Islam forbade alcohol, especially during hajj. Jack looked after them with a bit of worry, but I winked reassuringly. Riddick’s list of confirmed-beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt kills didn’t have a single cleric on it, or a child. She relaxed a little, paying attention to the first aid treatments.

Some fifteen minutes later, the group staggered back, laden with a motley assortment of ancient weapons and over a dozen bottles of alcohol. The prospectors questioned everything, giving the booze dubious looks. Where the pampered little man had gotten five Maratha crow-bill war picks originally from Northern India, an extremely rare hunting blow-dart pipe from Papua New Guinea, and valuable liquors like five-hundred-year-old Shiraz, I didn’t even want to know.

“What’s the point of arming ourselves?” I winced at Paris’ increasingly-familiar whine. “If he’s gone, he’s gone. Why would he bother us?”

“Maybe to take what you got. Maybe to work your nerves. Or maybe just to come back and skull-fuck you in your sleep.”

“Well aren’t you just a beacon of hope and happiness?” My temper nearly snapped, though I managed to keep it under control. “Maybe he just wants to get off this dustball as badly as the rest of us.” The former MP ignored me, handing his pistol to Zeke.

“One shot, if you see him.”

“An’ what if we don’t?”

“Then there’ll be no shots.” The group began to split again, the kid sticking with the self-proclaimed antiquities dealer and the bushwhackers. As I passed Shazza on the way out, I paused.

“I got a bad feeling Riddick isn’t the only dangerous creature around here. Or the most dangerous.” She looked intrigued by my comment. “I’d breathe a little easier if everyone tried to stay within sight of at least one other person.” The brunette nodded grimly.

“C… could you give my crewies a decent burial? They were good guys who died bad.” The request wrung a little bit of sympathy out of me for the pilot. Zeke responded with a solemn nod. “We’d better get started then, while it’s cooler, but before nightfall.” But Ali darted inside just then, babbling to al-Walid. I joined the general exodus to find out what the fuss was about.

A third sun, casting harsh blue light that strained my eyes despite my shades, had crested the horizon opposite the binary pair.

Just fuckin’ fantastic. Is it EVER dark here?

“So much for your nightfall.”

“So much for my cocktail hour.”

“We take this as a good sign.” Abu flashed shockingly white teeth in a grin. “A path, direction from Allah. Blue sun, blue water.”

“It’s a bit of a bad sign.” I raised an eyebrow at Johns’ correction. “That’s Riddick’s direction.”

“I thought you found his restraints over there, toward sunset.”

So he WAS resourceful enough to get out of them. Wonder what he found to do it with?

“Which means he went toward sunrise.” Those of us who were leaving bunched together a bit more, though I stayed well out of it. I wasn’t afraid of the convict, though my completely logical side said I should be.

~*~

Johns was decidedly jumpy as we reached the edge of the plain, where the ship had gone to ground, and entered a gully between two lines of gravel-covered hills. He’d chosen point position, his big-gauge shotgun constantly swinging through a hundred-and-eighty degree arc. He certainly seemed paranoid, as though Riddick shadowed us, ready to pounce at any moment and commence the slaughter. The sickly-sweet odor that had joined the rest of his scent wasn’t reassuring me any, either.

I, on the other hand, chose rearguard, and wished I could turn my nose off. The barren terrain smelled of more than just cinder and gypsum; the blood-like scent carried too much copper to be human, and it saturated the landscape. The number of deaths necessary to coat everything was unfathomable. But I saw no visible bones or tracks. Still no clue on who, what, why, when, how.

Then again, an errant breeze brought to my nose the scent I’d begun to associate with the unseen convict, that blend of musk and the lighter copper of human blood. My feral, animalistic side itched to track him down. Not to hunt and kill, which I’d been prepared for before I knew who he was, but to mate. That had never happened before; that part of me had been indifferent to the few casual lovers I’d had in the past.

I caught another whiff of him as a handful of stones rolled from the top of one hill, starting a tiny avalanche. Everyone froze but the merc, who whirled, heedless of the fact that his field of fire swept across the rest of us. If Riddick had caused the rock-fall, either deliberately or by accident, he hid very well. After a tense moment, the Abdullah boys picked up handfuls of gravel and threw pieces toward the slope.

“Seven stones to keep the devil at bay.” I rolled my eyes at the imam’s quiet explanation. Is it any wonder I’m agnostic, with such superstitious nonsense permeating religion?

Perhaps another hundred and fifty meters along the gully, Johns signaled another stop and lifted his shotgun to peer through the sight. Then he murmured something to Fry. As it trickled back to me, the boys scurried up the scree in that direction.

Trees? Here? They’re water guzzlers, and I haven’t seen a single plant yet. Why would there be trees in a landscape like this?

But they’d all stopped at the crest, and I knew why the moment I could see over it.

Before us stretched a massive boneyard, many of the skeletons easily rivaling the near-legendary dinosaurs of Old Earth. Several of the largest sported bony dorsal fans, their shapes similar to savannah trees. Something about the arrangement of the remains bothered me, and I frowned in thought. Ali asked his mentor something in Arabic.

“He asks what could have killed so many great things.” I shivered despite the heat. The culprits—or their descendants, as I had no idea how old the bones might be—were still around, and the weaponry I’d tucked away in the wreck was intended to arm us against them.

“It could be a communal graveyard, like the elephants of Old Earth.”

“Or a slaughter yard.” With everyone’s focus on me, I pointed out what I’d just noticed. “Biggest ones in the middle, and I’d bet money the littlest ones are mixed in with ‘em. Slightly smaller ones on the outside. Typical arrangement of a herd on the move, young adults guarding the mommas and babies. And they’re mostly facing the same direction, except for the ones furthest in that direction. Stampeded into a blind canyon and killed before they could react much.”

“First you’re a criminologist, and now you’re a wildlife expert?” I turned a deliberately expressionless face on the merc.

“You wanna argue biology and animal behavior patterns with someone who graduated among the top ten students of her high school’s senior class… when she was sixteen?” There was a long moment of silence.

“I’m taking her word for it,” Fry decided. “I just hope we don’t come across whatever did this.” She started down the slope carefully, bits of gravel rolling downhill with each step. Abu nodded his agreement and herded the three boys along the blonde’s path. I flashed Johns a shark-like grin the moment they were out of earshot.

“Majority rules… merc.” His mouth gaped as though he’d been sucker-punched. Before he could do anything else, I took off, jogging and hopping along the scree on a slightly different route. I was going faster than the others, and I didn’t want to run over one of the kids.

Hitting level ground first, I ducked inside a large ribcage and went into prowling mode. I needed to know everything I could learn about the mysterious predators, and checking out the bones was Step One. Running a hand along the inside of a rib revealed shallow but sharply defined grooves going every which way, as if someone had gone nuts with a razorblade on the bone. Three other pieces from three other individuals nearby bore the same sort of markings.

Perhaps they’d been killed by a swarm of razor-toothed carnivores.

Suddenly, Riddick’s scent surrounded me, more intense than it had been inside the wreck, and an irregular but sharp edge pressed against my throat while a large, warm body kept me from moving back. For a long second, I froze, then slowly tilted my head to one side, exposing the skin that fluttered faintly over the carotid artery and jugular vein. It was a downright primeval posture indicating surrender or submission.

“So you’re th’ one makin’ Johns look like someone pissed in his booze.” The gravelly rumble on top of the scent caused a pleasant shiver to run through my body and left butterflies in my stomach. I smiled a tiny bit.

“He doesn’t like the fact that I know he’s not the cop he’s pretending to be.” The mouthpiece of my breather was appropriated. It hissed a few times, and then was clipped back in its place on my shoulder.

“Most women woulda panicked already, tried to run or just plain passed out. But you… you’re not afraid of me, are ya, sugar?” I didn’t let the pet name rile me.

“No.” I shrugged, just a teensy motion of my shoulders. “Dunno why, really. But if what I’ve managed to figure out from your files is right, then, as long as I’m no threat to you, I should be fine.” Only women on that for-sure list were mercs.

“So why surrender?”

“My martial arts instructors teach that, in the face of an opponent that seriously outclasses you, it’s better to lose a little face and not challenge ‘em.” I remembered the rest of the introductory lecture and grinned. “But if you know you can beat the fuck outta someone, act dominant and don’t stand for any of their shit.”

“Sounds like th’ sergeants that taught me hand-to-hand.” Previously unrelated bits of information in my head suddenly meshed in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Their names wouldn’t be Drift and Callahan, would they?” The jagged blade pressed a little harder, but didn’t quite break the skin.

“How the fuck do you know that?” The rumble turned into a warning snarl. “Company erased my damn records.”

“Just figured it out.” A touch more pressure encouraged me to elaborate. “They took a special interest in me quickly when I started going to their dojo. Had me in individual training real fast. Every once in a while, one of ‘em compares me to ‘Rick.’ Told me I’m the second best that’s ever been handed to ‘em, after him.” The convict’s grip loosened. “I do believe I’m flattered.” The shiv moved away from my throat as he hummed thoughtfully.

“How’d you know that I’d need th’ shades and how heavy th’ polarization had to be?”

“Didn’t know who the hell they were for until Johns slipped up enough for me to connect the dots. And they’re just as dark as mine.” He snatched my sunglasses off my face, and I yelped, slamming my eyelids shut against the painful light of the blue star. Even in the shadow of the huge skeleton, it was too bright for my unshielded eyes. “Shit! Ow! Goddammit, give ‘em back! Fuck!” He moved the blade away entirely, and I reached up to rub at the tears that had formed in an involuntary attempt to protect my vision. I muttered cuss words even as the familiar shape of my glasses bumped an elbow and I grabbed them, jamming them back down on my nose where they belonged. Then I turned to face Riddick, my right hand pulling Dextra a few centimeters out of her sheath. “What the fuckin’ hell was that for?!”

“Check your story.”

“Eileen!” Just as I opened my mouth to chew his ass out for the stunt, Fry’s faint shout distracted me. I looked away for only a couple of seconds, but when I looked back, the man was nowhere to be seen. Only his still-strong scent told me he was nearby.

“Do not think this is over.” A distinct chuckle answered my growled words. Nope, it hadn’t been my imagination before. Schooling my features to hide the aggravation, I ducked out of the massive ribcage just as the pilot came into sight.

“There you are.” She bent over, resting a hand on one knee as the other grabbed her breather for a couple of hits of oxygen. “Thought we’d lost you.”

“Nah, just checking out the markings on these.” I jerked a thumb at the skeleton. “Looked at several; they’re all covered with possible tooth marks… if something could have razors for teeth.” She grimaced.

“Eww. Let’s pray we don’t run into whatever had these for dinner, then. We found a canyon leading in the right direction, just waiting on you before we continue.” I made a subtly mocking bow and gestured for her to lead the way, then looked back at the dead creature, where I knew the man-shaped predator was watching.

“Play nice with the other children, would ya?”
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Faint Premonition