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A Matter of Instinct	By : ehiltebe Category: M through R > Pitch Black Views: 2587 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Riddick, Pitch Black, or any of the characters from that universe. All I have is Eileen... And I make no money from this story, either!

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A Matter of Instinct

A Chronicles of Riddick: Dark Fury Alternate Universe

Chapter Four

Kubla Khan, Cryo Control

As she began selecting mercs for revival, Zanna muttered to herself in irritation. Every time one of the drooling idiots managed to get themselves killed, she was the one who had to replace them. She regretted ever taking the job offer that had been dangled in front of her.

Now, according to the rumors she’d heard, a supposed pushover with ransom potential had, instead, teamed up with the most notorious killer in the known universe. From the queue of mercs on her list, the pair of them had killed almost the entire welcome wagon. Arnie in Security said the woman had killed one guy just by kicking him, had knifed three, and got a fifth to blow his own head off before she was stopped. If he was telling the truth, she must be a force to be reckoned with.

As she reached the revival chamber, she sighed. She’d dawdle, taking her sweet time, but she might as well get the worst of those on her list thawed out first. Her handheld controller blinked a query at her.

[Revive: Toombs?] Zanna tapped the screen in confirmation. One cryo chamber moved out of the collection of tubes to center itself over the iris atop the three-meter diameter containment area. A man fell into the room with a wash of fluid that drained into a storage area so it could be purified and reused. The man laid there, mostly limp, as the drugs drained out of his system.

In a blink, he was on his feet, then charging toward her. She stepped back involuntarily as the curly-haired merc pressed his hands and the right side of his face against the plasglass.

“Miss me?” Toombs leered at her. Underneath the mask that covered her nose and mouth to protect her from noxious fumes, Zanna scowled. Then the computer system’s next query popped up.

[Purge?] She confirmed the instruction, wishing it meant that the chamber’s occupant would be ejected from the ship.

[Delouse?] She touched the screen again. White mist filled the recovery chamber, then cleared to show the man fanning his armpits. As if she wanted to see that. God, he was such an asshole.

“Mmm. Fresh as a daisy.” Rather than snarking at him like she wanted to, Zanna crouched to open a drawer in the chamber’s base and put Toombs’ bundle of gear into it. Once her side had closed and sealed, an access panel on the floor inside opened. Mr. Gabriel Toombs immediately began outfitting himself.

“Suit up and report.” She tried to maintain a brisk and impersonal tone. “Must be something big, them taking you off ice after what you pulled.” His little stunt had nearly killed half the people who kept the ship running, herself included.

“Sister, I certainly aim to find out.” He cocked his assault rifle with a smug grin. Zanna had to turn away before she said something that would get her into trouble.

Because when you were in trouble, even the privilege of sending your family carefully screened text communications got taken away. She hadn’t seen her parents or little sister in five years. Not since she went to the interview for a job that promised to pay enough for her to get her doctorate.

She desperately hoped that Riddick or the woman would kill Toombs. If, by some chance, they killed the top three, though, that would be even better.

Kubla Khan, Conservatory

The lavender-haired merc walked toward us, then stroked the cornrows of the statue Riddick had been looking at. Its eyes moved, looking at her, and I recoiled in horror. If all the human figures in the huge room— there had to be hundreds— were living people, she was more of a monster than I’d thought.

“Magnificent, is he not?” I stared as the man’s eyes swiveled back to look at me. “And until now, I thought he was the last of his kind, escaping the massacre because I had him here.” My mind raced, part fuming over the explosive now in my friend’s neck, part figuring out how to get off the ship with the other survivors, and part trying to decide if the man could be another like me.

I did look him over, though. More muscular than the convict, but not as tall. Whatever had been done to him had leeched out all color, leaving behind only shades of green-gray. The platform on which he stood was engraved with a title. ‘Killer of Men: Furya.’ The last word clicked into place in my mind, filling a hole I hadn’t even realized was there. As if I should have known it my whole life.

“And now I have the two of you as well… a breeding pair, it seems. A superb addition to my menagerie.” I narrowed my eyes. I was not going to let her ‘add’ me to anything.

“Hmph.” Riddick snorted dismissively. “Okay. You go through all the trouble to catch these guys, and this is what you do with them.”

The bitch frowned. “You’re missing the point.”

“What point? You’ve got millions, maybe billions, of UDs standin’ around collectin’ dust.” The manacles forced me to wave both hands toward the rest of the room.

“You underestimate their value, my dear Eileen.” I saw red; she had no damned right to use my given name, the one my biological mother had chosen for me. “They are priceless. Each, at one time, the most wanted man or woman in the known universe. The number of lives ended at the hands of those living and breathing in this room is… incalculable.” A self-satisfied smirk grew on her face.

“Ain’t what I’d call ‘livin’.’” My partner sounded as disgusted as I felt. The woman turned to fondle ‘Furya’s’ head.

“Just the same, I assure you they are all very much alive. Each one sustained in a form of cryo so profound that seconds seem weeks, and to blink an eye is a day’s work.” Yet ‘Furya’ seemed considerably more mobile than that. Perhaps another indicator of similarity? “The brain, however, continues to function unimpeded. The mind continues to think and feel, swarming with whatever dark thought’s it’s trapped alone with, as it will be for hundreds of years.”

“Hund— Holy shit, woman, how long do you plan on livin’?” I hoped she wouldn’t adhere to the old maxim about a lady never revealing her age. The sidewise glance she gave me could mean nothing.

“This room holds, oh, about two hundred years of collecting.” It was said so airily that I nearly dismissed the claim as bullshit. But it made sense. Some years had two or three different people at the top of the Alliance list, and the Company had a separate list of its own. That was about the only way to get so many high-profile killers.

Riddick simply curled his lip at her. I understood why. Living forever with only the motivation of continuing to gather some sort of resource wasn’t life, it was limbo; not worth the effort.

“So much more fitting a fate than dropping them off at the nearest slam.” Her voice was scornful of those institutions. “Here, they are appreciated for what they are, transformed into objects on par with their lives’ work.” The bitch straightened and walked toward an arch veiled with gauzy blood-red curtains, Junner on our heels, all but forcing us to follow. “And why? Because I gave them the audience they so desperately desired, the recognition they bought with the blood of others.” Her hands briefly became more claw-like as we passed more ‘statues,’ then motioned gracefully. “I understood their actions, stripped free of moral convention.” An intimate, semicircular area opened in front of us, centered on a divan and side table. Then she turned and placed her fingers under Riddick’s chin.

I reacted without thinking as a sort of barrier shifted in my mind. The beast, given control, sought to bite, to savage the hand touching what was rightfully ours. Simultaneously, I recalled hundreds of dreams, all set under a pinkish sky. Twisted and dead or dying trees tangled together in what might have been a grotto once upon a time, surrounded by rolling hills thick with gravestones that memorialized a slaughtered race. And always, the woman was there, her outfit tight but allowing free movement, a waving cape of dark fabric, her dark hair festooned with braids and beads, and pale green eyes that gleamed the way mine often did. In every vision, she spoke, always ending by touching my head with two fingers and telling me, “Choose your future.”

My teeth clicked, meeting on empty air less than a centimeter from my man’s jaw as the dream images dissolved. The merc queen had jumped away, with two meters now between us and startlement written large across her previously calm and in-control features. Warm breath puffed against my cheek as the convict briefly and near-inaudibly laughed. Now that I’d warned the object of my wrath, I leaned comfortably against his broad chest.

It took the woman a few minutes to get herself together again. “Don’t you see? They’re something greater now, something more than they ever were before…” Her dead green eyes closed, face twisted into a parody of bliss. “Art!”

“Lady, your taste sucks.” My low soprano blended harmoniously with Riddick’s deep bass. She sighed in disappointment, facing further into the sheer draperies.

“I expected as much. Junner?” Her flunky picked up a remote and pressed one of its buttons. With a low whir, the curtains slowly rose. “You see, Riddick, Eileen, there is a fundamental difference between you and I.”

“Yeah. You’re a psychopath.” My friend said it slowly, as if he spoke to a mentally deficient person.

“Amen to that.” The glare my addition generated was so worth it. I smiled back sweetly.

“You don’t appreciate art.” Riiiiight. What she called ‘art,’ any halfway decent jury would call ‘crimes against sentients.’ As bad as genocide. “But I believe the reason for this is something very different than you or anyone else might think. You’re artists.”

Martialartist, thank you very much. Not a homicide artist, you addlebrained twat.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my day. That ain’t one of ‘em.”

“You make art, Riddick, not analyze it. You shape it with your own hands, carve it from flesh and bone.” Her focus switched to me. “And you, you are learning to do the same, to add your own unique style.” She paused, then sighed. “But people like you do not understand such a thing by being lectured. You must experience it.” At a little wave of her hand, the dark-haired merc pressed a different section of the remote. Red light, bordering on infra-red and letting me see things even better than usual, flooded the dark space beyond the hangings.

Stunned, I took off my shades, hoping I hadn’t seen what I thought I was seeing. Riddick and I both stepped toward the edge.

“Oh, shit.”

“I said I’d find you, didn’t I?”
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A Matter of Instinct