Disclaimer: All characters pertaining to Pitch Black belong to USA Films.

Knife's Edge (Part 10)

Imam spoke up. "After hearing Jack's story, it is clear to me that she must remain with us. She has no one else. If we send her back to her homeworld, she will have to be taken in by strangers."

Jack looked nervously from face to face.

"How will we explain her presence when we arrive on New Mecca?" Imam continued.

Riddick turned his chair to face the others. "Well - I have an idea. You guys might not like it, but it's the only way I know to keep her with us *and* keep her safe."

"Ok - what is it?" Fry asked.

"We'll have to tell 'em she's my wife."

"Cool," Jack said with a smile.

"Hush!" said Fry. She turned to Riddick. "Are you serious? I thought you and I - "

He held up a hand to quiet her. "We are. I'll just say I've got *two* wives. That's common out here, nobody'll think twice about it." He leaned forward in his chair and looked at her. "We show up with a fifteen-year-old girl and no parents, whaddaya think they'll do with her?"

Fry thought about that. "I see your point. But still...why can't we just say she's our daughter?"

"Look at her," Riddick said, indicating the girl. "She doesn't look like either one of us."

"Yeah..." Fry said, scanning Jack's features. "You're right."

"Way I figure it," said Riddick, "They thinks she 'belongs' to me, they'll leave her alone."

"Right again," said Fry, "But is fifteen old enough to be legally married here?"

Riddick shook his head. "I know dick about the marriage laws in this sector. Imam? Any ideas?"

Imam shrugged. "I'm sorry, no."

Riddick pondered for a moment. "At her age, it'll be less suspicious if we say it's an arranged marriage. Lotsa poor folks do it 'cause they can't afford to keep 'em."

"Yeah, good idea," Fry replied. "But what if they ask where she came from?"

"Easy," Riddick said, "I'll say her parents gave her to me sometime before I booked passage on the Hunter-G. They didn't tell me where they were from, and Jack won't tell me either."

"Hm." Fry considered that. "Allright, but Jack?" The girl looked over at Fry. "You'll have to really keep your mouth shut, ok?"

Jack nodded and started squirming, trying to reach an itch on her back. "Agh!" she grunted, trying to bend her arm back.

"Let me get it, Jack," Fry offered. She reached under the back of Jack's shirt. "Where is it?"

"Right up there between the shoulder blades, aaaahhhhhh, that's it..." The adults smiled at the happy puppy look on Jack's face as Fry scratched her back.

"Hey..." Fry stopped scratching. "What the hell...?"

Jack leaped to her feet, yanking her shirt down. "Thanks, it's ok now, you got it," she said, a bit too quickly.

Riddick leaned back, gave Jack a pointed look. "What?"

"Her back feels like a mass of scars." Fry said incredulously. "All bumpy and ropy..."

"Let's see it, Jack." She backed away as Riddick stood up. "C'mon - you don't let her look, I'll come do it myself."

'No, please..." Jack pleaded, but Fry got behind her and jerked up her shirt, revealing a back crisscrossed with old scars. She spun Jack around and backed her up to the console lights so the men could see. Imam closed his eyes and bowed his head. Riddick's jaw and fists started clenching again. Fry shook her head and shot him a warning look.

"Your dad do that too?" Riddick asked in a low voice.

Jack nodded nervously, her eyes on the floor. "Yeah."

Riddick stood very still, taking a measured breath. "How long til New Mecca?"

Fry left Jack, who shrugged her shirt back down, and stepped over to her chair at the console. Imam leaned back as she bent over the instruments. "Uhhhh...16 hours at our current speed."

"I gotta get some shuteye," Riddick said, and strode abruptly to the back of the shuttle.

Watching his retreating back, Jack slipped into his chair and settled in. "Don't touch anything," Fry warned her. Jack raised her hands to show she wasn't, and cast another wary look towards Riddick.

Knife's Edge (Part 11)

Riddick stretched out on one of the shuttle's bench seats. He pulled his goggles up from around his neck and fitted them over his eyes. Total darkness. He needed to think. Things were changing too fast. *He* was changing. He couldn't say exactly how - he knew only that it was profound, and that it scared the hell out of him. But what was he really afraid of?

C'mon, Riddick - you ain't 'fraid o' *shit*. You a badass mofo. You a Iceman. You a killah.

He smiled, thinking this, and dropped off a cliff into unconciousness.

He found himself floating in a calm dark sea under a full moon. The water felt good, thicker than it should be, but warm and salty-smelling and good, caressing his naked body. Tiny waves of the stuff lapped at his chin, splashing droplets into his mouth. It had a rich, coppery, delicious flavor. He knew that flavor. He raised his hand to lick some from his fingers, and found he was holding a knife. In the moonlight, he saw blackish rivulets running down his arm.

Blood. He was floating in an ocean of blood. And it felt good. It felt right. He slowly licked his knife, closing his eyes and shuddering at the almost sexual thrill shooting through him. Ah yeeeeeeaaaahhhhh, baby, dat's da stuff. He inhaled deeply, savoring the rusty salt smell. He floated for a while, weightless, content. Then, abruptly, he felt his feet hit the sandy bottom.

He opened his eyes, and found himself approaching a small island. It looked like a grassy hill with some kind of odd-shaped house built on top. Soon the water (blood) was too shallow for him to float anymore, so he stood up and walked onto the shore. He looked down at himself. Red-black fluid cascaded off of him, glistening in the moonlight, pattering onto the cropped grass. Oddly, when it hit the ground, it turned clear, leaving no stain. Hm. Ok. He shrugged. Whatever, it's a fuckin' dream, right?

He turned his attention to the house, or whatever it was. It wasn't huge, but its oddly-shaped sections sprawled out comfortably on the broad hilltop. He heard wind in the trees. A juniper-like herbal smell wafted over to him. He took a deep whiff. It was nice, but not as good as the warm blood ocean. Actually, he couldn't even smell that anymore. Odd, this close to the beach. Oh well. He'd go for another moonlight swim when he was done looking at the house. He wanted to go in and see what the hell it was about.

He walked silently up the gentle slope, his coating of blood starting to stiffen a bit as it dried in the warm breeze. He got to the front door, and reached for the doorknob. Weird - when his blood-smeared hand gripped it, again it left no stain. He might as well be covered in regular water. Turning the knob, he opened the door onto a noisy family scene. In a large, brightly-lit kitchen (which, for some reason, didn't hurt his unprotected eyes), several children carried on noisily, entertaining themselves and each other. At a long, broad wooden table, a little girl with dark wavy hair sat and drew pictures while babbling away to a blonde boy about the same age who sat opposite her, playing with blocks of wood. In a corner, a younger boy beat his hands on some kind of tribal drum while a woman and another boy laughed and danced in the center of the room. He couldn't see any of their faces clearly. He went to the table, wanting to see what the girl was drawing. It turned out to be some kind of swirling, intricate pattern, meandering all over the page, but well-formed and beautiful. Still chattering away at her brother (he guessed), she picked up something that looked like an awl and ran it gently over the page, following the loops and swirls of her drawing.

His attention was drawn away by a voice calling from another room. A woman's voice, kind of familiar, but he couldn't place it. He turned to follow the voice and see who it might be. He moved right through the middle of the kitchen, surprised and amused that no one noticed the tall, naked, blood-covered man in their midst. "Hey!" he yelled at the dancing woman and boy, whose faces he still couldn't quite make out. They paid no attenton. Curious, he reached out with his knife and poked it at the woman. It went through her as if she were smoke. He laughed and walked on, still wanting to find the source of the voice he'd heard.

Rather suddenly, he found himself in what looked like a greenhouse. It wasn't finished, but things were growing in it already. The weather was nice, he thought. Lamps dotted the room here and there. Moonlight poured in from the partially open roof. The plants would be ok. The woman whose voice he'd heard was walking around energetically, carrying a potted plant. She was pregnant. He couldn't see her face either. He held out his knife as she passed him. It went right through her, as it had the other woman. So did his arm. Hey, I'm a ghost, he thought. A naked, bloody greenhouse ghost. Boo. That struck him as funny, and he chuckled a bit. Just for fun, he tried slashing some of the plants, but of course nothing happened. He looked around, wondering where he should go next.

"Riddick! Over here!" a child's voice called. He turned around a couple of times, trying to find the voice. "Here, outside!" A door appeared before him. Looked like the back door of the house. He opened it and stepped outside. And found himself in total blackness. He whipped around to look behind him, but the house was gone. He was alone in the dark, no reference point. "Hey!" he called out. "Where are you?' He scanned the darkness for some sign of the voice's owner. He noticed the temperature had started dropping. Dropping fast, too. Damn - it was fucking freezing in here, wherever *here* was. He dropped his knife and fell to his knees, really feeling his nakedness now. His blood coating was turning to ice. He shook uncontrollably, his breath coming in huge shudders." H-h-hey!" he yelled again. "Where are you?" Nothing. "Lemme outta here, it's fuckin' cold in here!" Still nothing.

Great. What a way to spend a dream. He really wanted that blood ocean back right now. He closed his eyes, shivering violently, and tried to will himself back to it. No good. Somewhere up over his head, the sounds started. Something - some *things* - were whooshing through the air above him, fanning him with icy air. And they made noises he recognized; he'd never forget that ominous clicking and screeching. It fuckin' figures, he thought. I try to get a little rest, and I end up freezin' my ass off in the dark with those fuckin' flyin' alien things. Goddamn, this sucked. He wanted to wake up, or go back to swimming in blood.

Then - silence. The things were gone, just like that. Somewhere up ahead, a tiny glimmer of light appeared. It looked like a star, or a miniature handlight. It bobbed along as if being carried by someone. "Anyone there?" Riddick called. He wrapped his arms around himself and waited, shivering. The glimmer grew to a glow, drawing closer. He heard what sounded like a child's bare feet padding along on the floor. Too cold for a kid to be runnin' around barefoot, he thought. Gotta get him some shoes. "Hey, k-kid!" Riddick yelled. "Better put some sh-shoes on!" Now what would make him say a thing like that?

The padding continued, the light grew larger and closer. Suddenly the child was in front of him, smiling. He was barefoot, dressed for summer in a t-shirt and shorts. He looked about five or six and had dark curly hair and brown eyes. Riddick studied his face, frowning. He knew this kid. Knew him very well. But he couldn't place him. He looked at what the kid was holding. It looked like a child's miniature teacup made of plastic, with a tiny rose on the side. Inside the cup was the source of the light. It reminded Riddick of some sort of plasma, but it was like nothing he'd seen before. It seemed to be made of billions of minuscule sparkles, circling the inside of the teacup in a lazy, syrupy fashion. Just looking at it made him feel better. He didn't want the blood ocean so much now. He wanted whatever was in that cup.

"P-p-put your sh-shoes on," was all Riddick could think to say, his brain numbed by the cold. The kid stepped right up to him and placed a tiny warm hand on his face. "I don't need shoes," he said. "I use this to keep warm." He raised the cup. The kid's hand felt so good on his face, it made him want to cry. He looked back into the cup. "N-not much in there." The kid giggled and took his hand away. "You only need a little. It grows when it gets inside you. Then you get warm all over, and the cold goes away."

He looked back at the kid's face. "Do I kn-know you?' The boy's face softened. "You used to, a long time ago." Riddick tried to speak again, but was shivering so badly all he could get out was, "N-name?" "Ricky," said the kid. "My name's Ricky." Riddick eyed the cup again, but couldn't speak, just shake, and try not to fall over onto the icy floor. "You want some?" asked Ricky, his face brightening. Riddick tried to nod, but managed only some sort of spastic head-waving motion. "Ok, "Ricky said, "but you have to drink it slow. It works better that way." Another spastic head jerk. Ricky reached out, grasped one of Riddick's hands and pulled it away from his blood-iced body. The hand the kid touched stopped shaking, and Riddick was able to take the offered cup. "Remember," Ricky admonished, "Drink it slow." Riddick raised the cup carefully, not wanting to lose a drop. He touched it to his lips, and tipped the contents slowly into his mouth.

This must be what it's like to drink a star, Riddick thought. The stuff went down his throat like vapor, swirling playfully around in his mouth before disappearing into him. It had no taste or smell. He'd stopped shaking altogether now, and the ice was starting to melt off his body. He handed the empty, still-glowing cup back to Ricky. "Thanks. I feel better." The kid placed a comforting hand on Riddick's shoulder. "Sometimes people get sick the first time," he said. "Why?" asked Riddick. Ricky frowned in thought for a moment, then said, "It gets inside them, and it feels so good they get scared, and that makes them sick."

"Oh," Riddick said back. He wasn't feeling anything special yet, but at least he wasn't cold anymore. Then, almost imperceptibly, he felt it begin, down in the pit of his stomach. It felt like heat, only - without the heat, if that made any sense. Riddick placed a hand over his stomach and held very still, waiting. Ricky's warm little hand was still on his shoulder. "Breathe slow when you wake up, that'll make it easier," he offered. Riddick gave him a distracted nod. His bowels felt weird, like he needed to - shit out some light, or something. The stuff moved, seeming to arrange itself inside him somehow, then hover, doing nothing. "I have to go now," Ricky said. He placed his little hands on Riddick's cheeks and looked into his eyes with a sweet smile. "Don't be afraid, it won't hurt you," he whispered. Then he was gone.

And a ball of light exploded in Riddick's mind, in his gut. He sucked in a deep, noisy breath. Then he felt himself yanked backwards by whatever was in his stomach and sucked out of the darkness, back through the greenhouse and the noisy kitchen, back down the gently sloping hill and into the moonlit sky over the blood ocean. He floated there, looking down at it, remembering how much he'd wanted to plunge back into it, and realized he wanted nothing more than to get away from it. He hoped he wouldn't fall back in. Then the gut-light gave another good, hard yank, and he was back in the darkness, gasping for air. How the hell did I get back here? He sat up quickly, trying to breathe.

From the front of the shuttle, they all heard Riddick snap awake and struggle for air. Imam rushed to the bench and found Riddick sitting up, wearing his goggles and breathing as if he were running out of oxygen. "Mr. Riddick!" he shouted. Riddick stuck an arm out blindly towards his voice. Imam grabbed his hand, drew close to see what was happening. Riddick gripped Imam's hand and continued to gasp, working his mouth like a fish. With his other hand, he reached up and ripped off his goggles. Now he could see Imam's concerned face in front of him, Jack and Fry hovering wide-eyed somewhere behind him in the semi-darkness. And Imam could see the look of mixed surprise and awe on Riddick's face. He drew even closer, gazing intently into Riddick's wet, blindly staring eyes. Then he understood.

"Breathe slowly, Mr. Riddick," he said. "And don't be afraid."

Knife's Edge (Part 12)

"What's wrong? Is he ok?" Jack was frantic. "Imam! What's goin' on?"

"Be quiet," said Imam, "and go back to your seats, both of you. He is in no danger."

Fry stepped forward, about to say something, her worried eyes flicking rapidly from Imam to the gasping Riddick and back again. Imam held up his hand. "Please, do as I say. I know what is happening. He will be allright." She stood there, a doubtful look on her face. His eyes fixed on Riddick, Imam waved his hand at them. "Please, go and sit down." Looking back at the men, Jack and Fry reluctantly made their way to the chairs up front, where they sat whispering and glancing towards the back.

"Mr. Riddick," said Imam. "Look at me. You must focus on me. You are on board the shuttle." Riddick forced his eyes to lock onto Imam's face. "Good. Now please, breathe with me. You must breathe more slowly, or you will be sick." Still gripping Imam's hand, Riddick tried to concentrate on imitating the long, slow, drawn-out breaths of the man before him. Gradually, he calmed down, and his heartbeat slowed. He let go of Imam and dropped his head into his trembling hands. "What the fuck was *that*?" he breathed out shakily.

Imam watched him for a moment, then leaned in towards him and said quietly, "Do you wish to tell me what you saw? Perhaps I can help you to understand it." Riddick sat back against the shuttle wall, closed his eyes, blew out another shaky breath. His heart was still beating fast, but not as badly as before. He looked across at Imam. "Oh, man...." he reached up and rubbed his forehead. "That was just too fuckin' weird." He dropped his hand into his lap and shook his head. "I wouldn't know where to start."

Still leaning in towards Riddick, Imam said, "Start with the first thing you remember seeing after you fell asleep. And Mr. Riddick?" He held up a warning finger. "You must be absolutely honest with me. If you lie about what you saw, or try to hide any of it, it will not help." Riddick looked down for a minute, thinking. Imam could sense his inner struggle. "You can trust me. I will not judge you." he said. "And whatever you tell me will not pass my lips." Riddick looked up again, locking eyes with Imam. They sat that way for what seemed an eternity as Riddick weighed his decision. Finally, he slowly leaned forward until he was sitting head-to-head with Imam in the shadows, and told him the dream.

The two men sat whispering in the back for over an hour. Jack and Fry cast curious glances at them from time to time, but were unable to make out what they were saying. Jack squirmed restlessly in her chair. "Whaddaya think they're talkin' about?" she asked Fry for the umpteenth time. Fry sighed. "Jack, I don't know. I can't even guess, so please stop asking me, ok?" She cut a quick look back at the men. "I'll go talk to Riddick when they're done. Maybe he'll tell me." She was about to turn back around when she heard Jack whisper, "What is he *doing*?" Fry squinted into the semi-darkness and saw Imam with his hand on Riddick's bowed head. It looked like he was blessing him or something. Ok, now THAT'S fuckin' weird, she thought. As they watched, Imam got up and came to them. "Mr. Riddick is fine, as you can see," he said, nodding his head towards the back.

Fry looked at Riddick's shadowy figure still sitting on the bench, then back at Imam. She pointed at Riddick. "Can I...?" Imam smiled and nodded. "Of course. I think he would like to talk to you." Fry nodded and got up, offering Imam her chair. She went to the back and sat down next to Riddick, laying her hand on his back and rubbing gently. "Hey." She leaned her face against his shoulder. "You ok?'

"Yeah." He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her up next to him. They sat quietly for a while, Fry waiting for Riddick to say something. Finally she asked, "What happened?" Riddick laughed. "Fuck if I know." She laid a hand on his knee. "Wanna tell me about it?" He shook his head. "Nah. Maybe sometime. I still gotta...I dunno...figure it out, I guess." She nodded. "Ok. I was just worried, that's all." He gave her a squeeze. "I know."

They stayed there for a while, not saying anything, just enjoying the warm press of their bodies as they leaned on each other. Fry looked up front and saw Jack and Imam whispering intently together. She laughed. "Looks like Jack's grilling him up there." Riddick looked too. "Yeah, I feel for the guy right about now." He gave Fry another squeeze. "Hey - how long was I out, anyway?" She looked up and pursed her lips. "Mmmmmmmm....I guess about...three hours." Riddick's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No shit." He shook his head. "Sure didn't *feel* like three hours."

"Hey," said Fry. "What was Imam doing with his hand on your head?" Riddick looked down for a minute before answering. "Some kinda blessing. Said we'd finish it later on, whatever that means." "Oh..." she replied. Her head suddenly fell forward as a wave of dizziness hit her. "Whoa..." she reached up and pressed a hand to her forehead. "I just realized I haven't eaten in...god, I don't even know how long. None of us have. We don't have any water, either."

"Yeah," he replied. "And we've got what - about twelve hours til New Mecca?" She sighed. "That's about right."

Riddick got up, really noticing his wounds for the first time. He had some pretty bad cuts, but nothing life-threatening. He limped to the front of the shuttle, signaling Fry to follow. "Ok, here's the deal," he said when they were all together. "We're twelve hours out with no food and no water." They all looked around at each other. "And no bathrooms," Jack piped up, squirming in her chair.

Fry looked around, then walked to the back of the shuttle. "Put your goggles on," she told Riddick as she went. When he'd done that, she snapped on the lights and started rooting around. Jack and Imam winced at the sudden brightness. "Aha!" She reached down and opened a large tilt-out supply bin. It was empty. "Here's our bathroom." She closed it and turned the light back off. Riddick slipped off his goggles as she rejoined them. "Sorry, but that'll have to do." Riddick gave a little laugh. "Better'n usin' the floor, I guess." Jack got up and headed for the back. "No peeking, ok?" The adults turned to face front and listened to the sounds of Jack's pants coming down, and her piss hitting the bottom of the bin. When she finished, she came back and sat down. She looked a lot more relaxed now.

"Ok," said Riddick. "We're all hungry and dehydrated, so we need to conserve our energy as much as possible. That means a nice, long nap." He looked around at the others. "Carolyn, you and Jack sleep now. I'm good for awhile, I just woke up. I'll stay up front." Imam spoke. "I will stay with you. I have much experience with fasting. I am accustomed to this." Riddick nodded. "Ok, done." He jerked his thumb towards the back. "Ladies, if you would?" Fry headed for the benches and settled herself heavily, her arm over her face. Jack relinquished her chair to Riddick and followed her, carrying Imam's borrowed outer robe. "I'm not sleeping by the piss bin," she said. "Not my problem," he replied from his chair, running his eyes over the console and checking the settings. "Fight it out with the captain if you want." He jerked his head towards Fry. Jack gave a defeated sigh and rolled her eyes, then went and lay down on the unoccupied bench, snuggling down under the thick robe.

When he'd finished checking the console, Riddick settled back into his chair and looked over at Imam, who was studying the stars. "Twelve hours and we're home free." Imam smiled and continued looking out at New Mecca, which was starting to look more like a planet now than a star. "Yes." He leaned back and sighed. "I wish very much that my sons could see this with me." His eyes showed the beginnings of tears.

They sat together silently, two men with very different pasts, bound now by pain and loss and the desperate struggle for life. Bound, too, by the knowledge that both their lives had taken a vastly different and unforeseen path. Two very different men, looking out at the same slowly approaching planet, knowing that on its soil, one way or another, the remainder of their mortal time would be decided.

Knife's Edge (Part 13)

"Carolyn. Hey, wake up."

Fry inhaled deeply and blinked open her eyes. Riddick stood over her, wearing his goggles. The interior lights had been turned on. "It's showtime!" he proclaimed with a grin. She yawned and stretched, a bit stiff from her hours on the bench. "Where are we?"

"''Bout an hour out." Riddick reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. She looked at him, surprised. "You mean I've been asleep for eleven hours?" "Yep," he replied. "Don't worry, nothin' came up. 'Sides," he continued as they moved towards the console, "you needed it more'n we did. Captain's gotta be on her toes."

Yawning, Fry took her seat in the captain's chair, Riddick took copilot. He looked back at Jack and Imam, who stood behind them waiting for instructions. "Go strap in. Things might get rough." They moved to obey, securing themselves with the harnesses on the walls beside the benches. Jack fixed her eyes nervously on Imam, who sat across from her.

Riddick and Fry strapped into their chairs. They worked quickly and quietly, carefully maneuvering the craft into proper deorbit attitude. Thirty minutes out, Fry tried the comlink. "New Mecca, this is Captain Carolyn Fry of the Hunter-Gratzner. Request permission for emergency shuttle landing. Acknowledge." Nothing. She tried again. No good. She looked around the console, checking indicators. "Goddamit! The fuckin' comlink's down!" she yelled. She tried pounding on the console. Nothing changed. She looked over at Riddick, who tried pushing a few buttons on his side. He looked up and shook his head. Still nothing. "Ok, looks like we take our chances," she said. "Let's hope they're not in a shootin' mood." She reached up and flicked some switches, running through all the necessary checks, preparing for atmospheric entry. Riddick did the same on his side, reading out stats and numbers as the craft continued its descent.

When they got close to the outer atmosphere, Fry said, "Stand by for deorbit burn." The shuttle began shuddering. Fry hit the forward thrusters. "Here we go!" she yelled. They felt a lurch as the thrusters kicked in. The front of the shuttle began to glow, and the cockpit got hot. Jack huddled into her harness and squeezed her eyes shut, glad she'd taken a piss when she awakened from her nap. Imam bowed his head in silent prayer. The roaring vibration seemed to go on forever.

Then, suddenly, they were free, coasting almost noiselessly. Jack opened her eyes to the blue skies over New Mecca and breathed a shaky sigh of relief. "Allah be praised," said Imam, under his breath. They were over an ocean, not far offshore from the main continent. Fry scanned it quickly and found what looked like a fairly large city, made up of mostly white buildings. "That must be Mecca City," she said, and aimed the shuttle towards it. They coasted for a while, Fry and Riddick keeping an eye out for any New Meccan craft that might challenge their unnannounced arrival, but none appeared. As they neared Mecca City, Fry noticed what appeared to be a huge cloud of black smoke hovering over a section of it. "What the hell is going *on* down there?" she muttered.

Riddick saw it too. "Looks like a fire. Maybe an explosion." They watched it for a moment. "I dunno about this..." Fry said doubtfully. "Looks dangerous. I think we should set down outside the city and go in on foot. No telling what we'll land in the middle of." Riddick leaned forward, looking through the window and examining the land around the city. He pointed. "There. Looks like some good flat hardpan." Fry followed his finger, and saw the huge flat space a few miles outside the city. "Ok, let's do it." They aimed the shuttle at its new destination.

The ride down wasn't too bad. Once they broke through the cloud cover, the weather was clear, except for that enormous, billowing column of black smoke. The wind carried it towards them, and they passed through wisps of it as they descended. As the flat dusty ground loomed closer and closer, Fry couldn't help remembering the view from her seat when the Hunter-G crashed. OK, God, she thought. I'm not much for praying, but I need this one thing to go right, just this one thing. No more crashes, ok? No more hunting for survivors. We've already survived. And no way will I lose what I almost lost back there. You hear me, God? If the bastard is even listening, she growled inwardly.

When the shuttle slowed enough for landing approach, they leveled it off above the almost-blank landscape. Jack squeezed her eyes shut again and jumped as they touched down roughly, bouncing along on the hard dirt. By the time she opened them, the shuttle had skidded to a halt in a giant cloud of dust.

They sat there for a few minutes, stunned and exhausted, not saying anything, just watching the dust whirl around them. They could hardly believe they were on the ground again - and this time, nothing was waiting to devour them. It was almost too good to be true. "Honey, we're hooooome..." said Riddick. No one responded. They were still taking it all in, getting used to not being in motion anymore. The dust whirled and whirled, mixing with the now more frequent wisps of smoke floating over to them from the city.

After a long while, Imam spoke. "Perhaps we should get out of the shuttle now." For some reason, that struck Fry as terribly amusing, and she burst into laughter. She grabbed her belly, doubling over with the intensity of it. Riddick gave her an amused look. Jack unbuckled her harness and wiggled out of it, smiling at Fry's laughter, which then made an abrupt switch to weeping. It was just too much. Too much pain, hunger and thirst. Too hard to believe they were all really alive and sitting unharmed on the surface of this friendly planet, a planet with beds and people and showers and food.

Riddick reached for Fry's hand and held it tight, letting her cry it out. Although he didn't show it, he knew exactly how she felt. It took her a while to get it out of her system and calm down, but they all waited patiently. When she finally raised her head and wiped her face, she looked around, embarrassed. "Sorry...don't know what hit me..." Riddick briefly squeezed her hand, then released it and undid his harness. Imam gave her a sympathetic smile.

Fry got out of her harness too, then hit the button to open the hatch. As the door lifted and the gangway lowered itself to the ground, clouds of smoke and dust invaded the shuttle, making them cough and blink. Jack raised her shirt to cover her mouth and nose. She picked up Imam's outer robe, which she'd wrapped up in during her nap, and handed it back to him. He took it and wrapped it around his neck, raising it to conceal the lower half of his face. The four of them looked at each other for a long moment, then slowly, almost reverently, stepped out of the shuttle, down the gangway, and onto the soil of New Mecca. Imam walked a short distance away from the shuttle and fell to his knees, bending to touch his head to the ground several times as he chanted softly in Arabic. Fry, Jack and Riddick walked until they were out of the dust cloud, which had mostly blown away, and surveyed their new surroundings.

"So..." said Fry, peering at the distant buildings of Mecca City under its billowing black cloud. "How far d'you think it is?" Riddick blew out a long, slow breath, thinking. "'Bout five miles, give or take." Jack lowered her shirt from her face. Imam joined them, unwinding his robe from around his neck. He draped it over his arm and stood with the others, silently appraising the smoke-filled horizon. He thought of his sons, and how their eyes should be seeing what he saw at this moment. This was not the pilgrimage he had begun. But then, who could say what changes such a journey would bring? Even painful journeys have their purpose, he thought. He stood now on the ground he had traveled so far to tread upon, with three new pilgrims by his side. Stretched out before them all was this new world, waiting to reveal what it held in store for them.

Riddick finally broke the silence. "We gonna stand here all day?" He looked around at the others, then jerked his head in the direction of the city. "Let's move." They started walking, their feet kicking up puffs of dust that floated away behind them and blew themselves out on the hull of the forgotten shuttle.

Knife's Edge (Part 14)

The walk to Mecca City took about two hours, slow and stumbling as they were. At Riddick's insistence, they used that time to go over and over their story, fixing it in their minds so they wouldn't slip up and give themselves away. Doing this helped them all stay awake and not focus on their fatigue and injuries. About halfway there, Jack collapsed face-first onto the hard, dusty ground, unable to hold herself upright any longer. Riddick gently lifted her up, dusted her off, and hoisted her into his arms. He carried her the rest of the way.

As they neared the city, the ground changed from scrubby hardpan to fields of short, tough purplish grass. The smoke was really blowing towards them now, slapping them with an ugly, oily stench. They had to change course a few times to avoid being smothered in it. About a mile out, they finally caught sight of people running frantically all over the place, and hovercraft circling in the air near the huge black column of boiling smoke. It looked like they were trying to fly into it, but not having much luck - they were buffeted by high winds, and the smoke kept changing direction, showing no sign of thinning out.

By the time they got to the city limits, they could see that a huge, burning structure was the source of all the smoke and stench. This close, it almost made them sick, especially in their weakened condition. In the confusion, no one seemed to notice them - they slipped easily into the city a few hundred feet from the burning building. People crowded the streets, running and yelling. A few bodies lay here and there, some covered, some not. The ones not covered were blackened, and some were missing limbs. A wailing woman bent over one of the bodies, rocking and crying out a name.

They stopped for a moment to survey the confusion. Fry made a face and held her nose. Imam covered his nose and mouth again with a section of his outer robe. Riddick shook his head. "Good thing Jack passed out when she did." The others nodded agreement, their eyes fixed on the chaotic scene before them. Suddenly, an explosion rumbled from somewhere within the damaged structure, rocking the street. After a moment, something that looked like ash or dust started softly raining down on them. "Let's get the hell outta here," said Riddick. He broke into a shuffling run, the cuts on his leg really starting to burn now. Fry and Imam followed suit. They kept going for a few blocks until they found themselves in what seemed to be a quiet residential area.

They stopped again, standing there in the street, breathing hard and wiping sweat off their faces. Fry bent over and braced herself with her hands on her knees, her head hanging down. Imam lowered the robe from his face. Riddick looked at him. "Any idea where we are?" Imam turned around, panting, scanning the nearby buildings. "No, not really." He turned again. "Perhaps we should knock on a door and ask."

Fry nodded. "Good idea," she panted, standing upright again. "We need to find a medical facility." She looked around too, seeing nothing but rounded abobe-looking living structures made of what looked like prefab modules. Most were white, but a few were painted blue, green or pale yellow. A few people milled nervously on the sidewalks, craning their necks in the direction of the explosion, speaking together quietly and excitedly. Two young men passing stopped and looked the strangers over worriedly, then addressed Imam in Arabic. After a short discussion with the men, he turned back to Fry and Riddick. "They asked if we were injured in the explosion. I told them we have just arrived on a pilgrimage and need to know where a medical facility is located."

"And...?" Fry prompted. Imam continued. "They say the Al-Fayed clinic is a few blocks from where we now stand, but it is already overflowing with victims of the explosion. There are other facilities, but they too are full." Fry sighed heavily and threw up her arms. "Well, that doesn't help any. What are we supposed to do?"

Imam held up a hand for silence. "They say they can take us to the home of a healer they know. We will find help there." Turning back to the young men, Imam spoke with them again, then said, "It is about a mile from here, further away from the explosion." One of the men spoke to Imam again, indicating with his hand the direction they should go. "We should hurry," said Imam. The men started walking, and the pilgrims followed, Riddick now with a more pronounced limp.

The walk through the city seemed endless, twisting and turning through the streets, past more prefab dwellings and what looked like storefronts. Finally, they rounded a corner and approached a large compound surrounded by a high, cream-colored wall punctuated by an ornate wooden gate. The sounds of children playing floated out to them from behind the wall. One of the men knocked on the gate and called out in Arabic. After a short wait, the gate was opened by a young, pregnant, dark-skinned woman with big eyes and a pierced nose. As the young men spoke to her, her inquisitive eyes swept across the four strangers, resting for a long moment on Jack's unconscious body in Riddick's arms. She nodded and answered the men in Arabic, then closed the gate.

"Hey..." said Fry. "Where'd she go?" Imam waved a quieting hand at her. "She will return with the head of the house, and he will let us in." They heard the woman call out to someone. A male voice answered, and they heard lively footsteps approach the gate. It opened again to reveal a beautiful, dark-skinned man of medium height with large, liquid, smiling eyes. He looked very much like the woman who had answered the gate before. The man's eyes went immediately to Imam, whose face brightened in recognition. The man rushed out of the gate and embraced Imam, laughing and crying with happiness. They hugged fiercely, then held each other at arms' length, speaking quickly and joyfully in Arabic.

"Friend o' yours, I take it?" said Riddick. Imam let go of the man and turned back to them, laughing and wiping happy tears from his face. "Yes. This is Robert Al-Fayed, a dear friend of my family who came to settle here many years ago. He will help us." Just then, the young pregnant woman came back out of the gate accompanied by a petite older white woman with short, curly blonde hair. The blonde woman walked up to Riddick and held out her arms, indicating that he should hand over the girl. He did, and she cradled Jack's body gently as she hurried back inside.

"Please, please, come in!" said Al-Fayed. He led them through the gate and into the compound. The pregnant woman brought up the rear and closed it behind them, then hurried off towards the right wing of the large house. Imam and Al-Fayed embraced yet again, laughing with joy. "Allah has truly blessed us today!" said Imam. "He has brought us a friend in our time of need."

Riddick and Fry looked around the compound. In the late afternoon sunlight, seven or eight children of various ages and colors played, or sat and looked with open curiosity at the strangers. The simple U-shaped house had two floors with a balcony running all the way around the inside, and was the same cream color as the outer wall. The center of the U formed the large stone-tiled courtyard in which they now stood. It was filled with plants, both potted and in the ground. Tall, fragrant trees formed a green canopy with their boughs, shading the courtyard from the sun. The wind made a sighing sound as it moved through the branches. Brilliant flowers were everywhere, even suspended from the balcony.

Fry looked up at the waving trees, breathing in the fresh scent of the flowers. Suddenly, she felt something hard smack into the back of her head. She frowned, wondering who had hit her. Then she saw Riddick and the other two men bending over her, and realized she'd collapsed and was now lying on her back looking up at them. Riddick stood her up and held her tightly against him to keep her from falling again. She swayed deliriously, and her head fell forward against Riddick's chest.

Imam and Al-Fayed conversed quickly in Arabic, then turned to Fry and Riddick. "Here, let me take you to your room. Over here." Al-Fayed indicated a ground-level door on the left side of the U. Riddick, his arm still firmly around Fry, followed, limping. She tried to walk with him, but did little more than drag her feet along the ground as he supported her. Al-Fayed opened the door and led them into the room. Against the far wall was a large, soft-looking bed with a dark blue cover. Riddick took Fry to it and carefully eased her down to lie on her side. She flopped over on her back and lay there. Riddick sat down beside her. Al-Fayed walked to a door on the wall opposite the bed and opened it. "Here's the bathroom. You have a shower and plenty of soap and towels. I'll get some robes for you." Riddick nodded and leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing the back of his neck.

Al-Fayed walked back to the door of the room, where Imam was waiting. "I'll have Maya bring in the robes," he said. "Trish is taking care of the girl, so don't worry. She's in good hands. Just relax and get cleaned up. We'll talk later." With a polite nod to his guests, he closed the door. Riddick sat for a long time on the edge of the bed. Right now he felt the way Fry had when they landed - still not fully believing that he was sitting on a real bed, in a nice house, with nice people, and a shower waiting for him right across the room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually felt welcome somewhere. Or safe.

He looked over at Fry. She lay staring up at the ceiling, apparently mesmerized by it. "Hey," he said, giving her leg a shake. She looked over at him blearily. "You ok?" She nodded, but she seemed to be looking right through him. She was almost gone. He needed to get them up and moving and into the shower. After that, they could sleep. He looked up when he heard a soft knock at the door. "Mr. Richards?" a soft, musical female voice called from outside.

He got up and opened the door to find the pregnant woman from the gate standing there. Draped over one of her arms were two silky robes, one dark brown, the other a faded blue. In her other hand was a small lidded container. A fresh, invigorating scent rose from it. He stepped back, let her in and closed the door. She laid the robes over a chair by the bathroom door, then went to sit beside Fry, depositing the container on the bedside table. She leaned over Fry, examining her face with concern. "Mrs. Richards?" Fry turned to the woman, trying to focus on her face. Mrs. Richards? Who's that? Oh yeah, I forgot - that's me now... "Mrs. Richards, you have to sit up for a minute, ok? You have to drink something, it'll make you feel better."

She stood up and slid her hands behind Fry's shoulders, gently turning her and helping her to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. When Maya took a hand away to reach for the container, Fry started tipping over. Catching her quickly, the woman turned to Riddick. "Mr. Richards, can you help me, please? I need you to hold her up so she can drink." Riddick sat down beside Fry and wrapped a supportive arm around her. She lay limply against him, her head lolling, as Maya knelt, opened the container and put it to Fry's lips. "Drink, Mrs. Richards." She tipped the container and Fry sipped a little of the greenish liquid. It smelled kind of like mint, but different somehow, and stronger. The aroma raced up Fry's nostrils and burst into her head, snapping her fully awake.

She drew in a quick breath. "Wow...what *is* that?" Maya smiled. "It's an extract of the pandra plant. Really wakes you up, doesn't it?" Fry nodded. "Wow," she said again, taking a deep breath, her eyes wide. Maya offered her the container. "Here, drink some more. Just sip it, though - it's really strong." Fry took the container and drank, pausing between each sip. Her stomach felt like it was filled with ice, only it wasn't cold. She felt it slowly spreading outward to the rest of her body, like a cool internal breeze.

When she had drunk about half of the liquid, Maya took the container and handed it to Riddick. He looked at it doubtfully for a moment, then back to Maya, who nodded and gestured enouragingly. Then he threw back his head and chugged the contents. Maya gasped and reached for the container. "You're not supposed to drink it that fast!" Riddick let go of it and sat there, gasping and marveling at the sensations in his stomach and head. "Holy shit, that's strong!" His eyes watered behind his goggles, and he coughed a few times. His head was buzzing, and like Fry, he felt the icy sensation in his gut. He was wide awake now, too.

Maya set the container back on the bedside table. "Are you ok?" she asked with a concerned frown. Riddick took a few deep breaths, coughed again, then nodded and said hoarsely, "Yeah, no problem." She watched him for a moment, then spoke again. "The pandra will give you a little energy so you can get cleaned up and changed. Be sure and drink some water too, but not too much. Imam says you're dehydrated, and if you drink too much water at once, you might throw up." She reached for Riddick's leg, turning it to examine his wounds. "Ooohhh..." she hissed in a breath. "That's nasty. Looks infected, too." She looked up at them and smiled. "Kate'll take care of that when she gets back." She patted Riddick's knee and stood up. "Go ahead and get cleaned up, and make sure you wash those wounds. We make our own herbal soap here, and it's really mild, so it shouldn't sting too much." With a brisk nod and a smile, she turned and walked out the door, closing it behind her.

Riddick and Fry sat side by side on the edge of the big bed, just breathing. The fresh, heady aroma of pandra surrounded and penetrated them. Then Fry noticed another aroma. "Know what?" "Hm," Riddick grunted back. She turned to him. "We really, really stink." A grin spread across his face, and they both burst into laughter. Riddick got up and walked to the window. He felt for the handle of the inside shutter and pulled it down tight, making the room completely dark. He slipped off his goggles and tossed them onto the bed with a heavy sigh of relief.

Fry removed her shoes and socks as Riddick crossed the room and locked the door. Then he started undressing, slowly and painfully peeling off his sticky, bloodstained clothing and dropping it on the floor. They both had a bit of sunburn from their walk to the city, and they were really feeling it now. Fry stood up and undressed too, letting her clothes fall into a pile beside the bed. In their relief to be free of their filthy garments, it didn't occur to either of them right away that this was the first time they'd been totally naked together.

They stood in the darkness, he by the door, she by the bed, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of nakedness, of clean, cool air circulating around their sore, fatigued bodies. Then Riddick headed for the bathroom and turned on the shower, holding his hand under the spray as he adjusted the temperature. "Comin'?"

"Yeah," Fry replied. "Gimme a minute, I can't see anything." She aimed herself at the shower noises and carefully shuffled forward, arms extended in front of her. Riddick moved to the bathroom doorway and smiled at the sight of Fry moving jerkily across the room like a blind zombie. "Stay there, I'll getcha," he said. She stopped and waited while he went to her, reaching out a hand for her to grab, and pulled her along behind him as he returned to the bathroom.

The shower stall was big enough for both of them, and Riddick had made the water lukewarm so it didn't hurt their sunburn. The spray was hard and heavy, and it felt damn good as Fry stuck her head under it, letting it pound on her dirty scalp, rinsing the grime and sweat out of her hair. Riddick stood behind her, his hands on her hips, waiting for his turn. "Where's the soap?" she asked. Riddick grabbed a bottle off the corner shelf and pressed it into one of her hands. She squeezed some out onto the top of her head, handed the bottle back, and started scrubbing. After a minute, Riddick replaced the bottle, pushed her hands aside, and took over the scrubbing himself. His strong fingers massaging her scalp, Fry leaned back against him, savoring the feeling, surrounded by the soothing herbal scent of the soap. "You can do that all day if you want." He scrubbed for a while longer, until she said, "Ok, that's enough. Better stop before I fall asleep in here."

She rubbed some of the soap on her face, leaned forward into the spray to rinse, then stepped aside to let Riddick take his turn. He turned his face up into the pounding water, then tilted his head forward so it could flow over him and down his back. Getting some soap from the bottle, he rubbed it into his head and face, then rinsed. "Want me to get your back?" asked Fry. "Sure, why not." He guided her hand to the soap bottle, and she squeezed some out and rubbed it on his back. Setting the bottle on the floor, she used both hands to smooth the liquid over his whole back, then started firmly massaging.

Riddick was almost overcome for a moment before he caught himself. After all the beatings he'd taken, the fights he'd been in, the rough, mindless, drunken sex with coarse women, this wasn't the kind of touching he was used to. It was like - like sleeping on a cloud when all you've ever known is a hard floor, he thought. He closed his eyes and focused on Fry's hands and what she was doing with them, running them over every muscle in his tired back, up and down his spine, up onto his sunburned shoulders and neck. Baby, you can sure as hell do *this* all day. I won't mind a goddam bit.

"Ready to rinse?" she asked when she'd rubbed for a while. "Yeah." Reluctantly, he turned around and let the water take away the suds. "Where's the bottle?' he asked. "It's your turn now." Fry bent down and felt for it on the floor, handing it to him when she found it. He turned her around so she was facing the opposite wall, then soaped her up and started rubbing. He tried to do the same thing on her back that she'd done on his, and she seemed to like it just as much. His hands wandered to the front of her now, gently massaging her breasts, smoothing soap down her belly, cupping his hand over her pubic mound and rubbing soap into the hair there. He didn't do anything sexual - just rubbed his hands all up and down her body as if worshipping a fine piece of art. She luxuriated in this, hardly believing him capable of it. These are the hands of a killer? she thought. What a way to die...

Riddick pulled her up against him for a moment, wrapping his arms around her, holding her there, pressing his lips into her wet hair as she leaned her head back onto his chest. They drank in the solitude and darkness. He released her, leaning her against the wall once more, and knelt to wash and caress her hips, legs and buttocks with the same care as the rest of her. Rising, he poured more soap into his hands and did the same with her arms, then turned her to face the spray so she could rinse. When she was done, she started to ask for the soap again, but he was a step ahead of her - he had the bottle ready to press into her hand. She smiled at that, wondering if he could tell in the dark.

She backed him against the wall and covered him with soap, then gave him the bottle to put away. She began with his shoulders, running her soapy hands down his arms. She took special care there when she felt the cuts, making sure they were well-cleansed. Raising his arms, she washed under them, then slid her hands down his ribs and brought them around to his chest. My god, she thought, he feels like a classical Greek sculpture. I'm bathing a living, breathing statue. She smoothed soap all over the front of him, moving her hands in little circles and stopping right above his genitals. She could tell he was becoming aroused, and she wanted to save that for last. Her hands continued over his butt and down his legs, stopping when they came to the big cuts on his left thigh. She felt around them hesitantly with her fingers. "Am I hurting you?" she asked. "Nah," he said. "Just go ahead, don't worry 'bout it." She carefully washed the cuts, noting how swollen they were. He didn't flinch, but she knew it had to cause him pain.

When she finished his legs, she stood up and said, "Ok, all done." He grabbed her hands - as she knew he would - and placed them between his legs. "I don't think so." She could feel him getting harder as he held them there. She cupped her hands around his balls and rubbed gently, sudsing them up. Riddick let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed, and felt his excitement mount with every movement she made. Now she was gripping the shaft and soaping that up. Aw, Jesus, this was too much. Exhausted as he was, he couldn't wait anymore.

Stopping her hands and moving them away, he rinsed himself off, then turned and pressed her back against the shower wall. They started kissing, but this wasn't the hungry, desperate kind they'd done the first time in the shuttle. This was tender, deliberate, attentive. They thrilled to the feel of their bodies pressed together, their hands caressing each other. There was no hurry here, they had time. Sealed up together in the darkness, with no one watching them or waiting for them, no one needing them for anything, they focused only on each other. Fry moaned when she felt him nudging against her opening, and shifted herself to let him in. He entered her smoothly, then held still inside her. As they continued kissing, Riddick began to move, just barely, just enough to shove him a little closer to climax without sending him over the edge. He wanted this to last as long as possible.

Fry closed her eyes and felt the warning tingles of imminent orgasm flickering through her. Tired or not, she was already close to losing it. If he moved just a little more, just the slightest bit - and then he did. The white-hot flare rose up and engulfed her, the spasms started, and she trembled and clung to him for support as she rode out the wave of pleasure, gasping and moaning. Surprised by her early climax, Riddick tried to slow down his own reaction, but it was too late. His body stiffened as he mashed her against the wall, his hips lurching as he came, his noises echoing with hers in the shower stall.

Breathless, they stood there under the spray, recovering. When they'd calmed down a bit, they separated and helped each other wash again, shuddering deliciously at the post-orgasmic sensitivity of their bodies. Riddick turned off the water and stepped out of the stall to find the towels. "Stay there," he told Fry. She waited, then took the big, soft towel when he touched it to her hand. She made her way carefully out of the stall to stand beside him, and they both dried off, shivering a bit in the cool, conditioned air of the bathroom. When they were finished, Riddick took the towels, draped them over the shower door, and led Fry by the hand back to the bed, where they slipped quickly under the covers, which were made of some kind of soft knitted material that felt cozy against their skin. He heard something thump to the floor, and remembered he'd left his goggles on the bed.

They settled into the plump mattress, which smelled like the soap they'd used in the shower. They probably wash everything with that stuff, thought Fry. Not that I mind. She turned on her side and snuggled her damp head into the pillow, inhaling the same fragrance there. Riddick lay on his back, his limbs sprawled loosely under the covers. As he breathed, he noticed he was getting a lot drowsier all of a sudden. In fact, his eyes were now almost impossible to hold open. He wondered if Fry felt the same abrupt slowing-down. "Hey," he said sleepily, shaking her. "You 'wake?" She mumbled something into her pillow he couldn't understand. "Wha'?" His speech was starting to slur.

Fry moved languidly beneath the covers, stretching her legs. "Love you..." she whispered, barely audible. The last thing Riddick felt, as he spiraled down into the deep well of unconsciousness, was a single tear escaping his eye and running down the side of his face into the pillow.

Teaser: New Mecca, New Life

Chapters 1-4 Chapters 5 - 9 Chapters 15 - 18 Chapters 19 - 22
Chapters 23 - 24