Title: Apprentice
Author: Ardath Rekha
Chapters: 61 (Including afterword)
Category: Gen with some Het themes
Pairing: Riddick/Jack, Riddick/OFC(s)
Rating: NC-17 for language, adult situations, explicit sex, and graphic violence
Summary: Four and a half years after the crash of the Hunter-Gratzner, now-18-year-old Jack is released from the juvenile facility she's lived in for four years. Due to her refusal to help the authorities capture Riddick, they've done their best to ensure that her future will be as bleak as possible, until Riddick himself returns to rescue her. But the forces arrayed against them, determined to recapture Riddick at any cost, are enormous...
Disclaimer: The characters and events of Pitch Black do not belong to me; they're the property of a whole bunch of incredible people at USA Films and Universal Pictures. New events and characters, however, are my creation and my property, so be nice and ask if you want to re-use them. No money is being made off of this. I'm writing strictly for love. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual people or events, living or dead, is coincidental.
Feedback: ardathrekha@aol.com
1.
Jack: "Riddick's Bitch"
Every morning when she woke up and every night before she fell asleep she told herself Riddick was dead. It made the pain easier to take.
She knew that he really wasn't -- the death of Richard B. Riddick, notorious serial killer, would be the biggest story on every planet's newscast if it happened. But pretending he was dead made things easier. It kept the dreams at bay, the ones in which he showed up and rescued her from her purgatory and took her away with him again.
This morning was different. Riddick could live today -- she was Getting Out.
Jack waited until the other girls on her floor were done before she headed for the bathroom to shower. She gave herself extra time -- it was her Last Day, after all -- and dressed slowly. Almost everything of hers was already packed. Today was about formalities. If she had to observe them, then she was also going to take advantage of them.
She was the last person into the dining room and she could feel the stares and the whispers. Everyone was watching her go through the Last Day rituals. Nobody would miss her after she left but it was still an Event. She'd kept them all at a distance for the last four years -- no close friends, no confidants -- so nobody would be coming to say good-bye or give her a hug before she boarded the shuttle. Nobody ever had before, so she didn't care.
If she had no friends at the shelter, she also had no real enemies. The specter of Richard B. Riddick kept them at bay. A few whispered about her, calling her "Riddick's Bitch" when they thought she wouldn't hear, but none of them had been willing to take the risk of being on her bad side if her infamous protector actually did show up.
She made a point of enjoying her last meal at the shelter, although breakfast was her least favorite meal of the day. It was missing too much. It was missing him. Breakfast had been the one meal they had consistently eaten together during their few months on the lam, and he had never ignored her when they did. They would talk. He would tell her stories about life in Slam and life on the run, the places he'd seen and the people he'd met, and the lessons of survival he'd learned from them. It was the best part of her day, in those days, when she had him all to herself and didn't have to deal with the cheap sluts he played with or the desperate scumbags who hired him for jobs she didn't want to know about.
Finally she was the last one in the dining room, toying with her oatmeal and thinking about the man who might not even know she was still alive. Might not even care. She waited, knowing that eventually someone would come to take her through the next step of Getting Out. Finally they sent Mrs. Baxter to fetch her.
She followed the cold, prim woman through the quiet halls. She always got a kick out of Mrs. Baxter, who managed to look like a nineteenth-century maiden aunt even in the current times, and even in a standard-issue jumpsuit. They went to Parker's office, of course. That was the routine. There was no other possible destination at this stage of the ritual. She'd play the game just right for them, and then she'd be gone.
One wrinkle in the routine appeared almost immediately as she entered the office. A man in military garb stood beside Parker's desk, watching her intently as she walked over to the traditional seat. That was new. She remembered the man, too. She'd spat in his face four years ago and instructed him on how to do some things that were supposedly anatomically impossible.
"Please sit down, Miss Kowalczyk," Parker instructed, as if she hadn't done so already. She waited silently. If the rules of the game had changed, she was going to hear them defined before she started playing.
Parker glanced through her file. "Audrey J. Kowalczyk. Eighteen years old, real-time... nineteen years and five months from nativity. Daughter of Pyotr and Josephine Kowalczyk, deceased. Ran away from your uncle Boris eight years ago shortly after your parents died in a loader accident. Taken into custody four years ago, while in the company of Richard B. Riddick. That's quite a career."
She shrugged, waiting for him to get to the point. This was, in theory, the last day that anyone would be able to see those records. Tomorrow, and every day thereafter until she died, they would be sealed, inviolable.
In theory.
"You've been a most uncooperative young lady, Miss Kowalczyk. We've done everything we could to help you reintegrate into society, but you have continued to display disturbing anti-social tendencies. If there were legal grounds for us to continue holding you, be assured that we would."
This part was a complete lie and it angered her. She bit down on the anger and hid it away, retreating behind the bland, deadpan face she'd perfected long ago. She'd been a good girl for the past four years, diligent in her studies, correct in her behavior. The only defiance she'd ever displayed was in her continued refusal to lure Riddick into a trap. She turned and glanced at the military man, one eyebrow raised. Letting him know she knew the truth.
The silence drew out for a moment. They seemed to be expecting her to say something. She didn't bother. They'd strayed off of the script and she had no obligation to them until they got back to it.
"Be that as it may," Parker finally continued, "it is my duty to inform you that your stay at this correctional facility is at an end. You are legally an adult and will be released on your own recognizance."
"Thank you, sir," she answered softly. Her voice was perfect, polite and diffident, utterly correct, utterly unimpeachable.
"I understand that you have requested training as a pilot. It is my sad duty to inform you that, despite your good academic standing, you did not test highly enough to be offered a scholarship to the flight academies. Your academic records have been forwarded to a placement agency. They will see about arranging an apprenticeship for you on a vessel."
Another lie. Jack was an adept hacker and she had seen her test records long before now. Her score had been perfect, top percentile. But nobody was going to give a scholarship to "Riddick's Bitch."
"Thank you, sir," she said again. Deep inside, she substituted another, cruder word.
"Lieutenant Jarvis here, however, would like to discuss another possible option for you," Parker finished.
Jack turned her attention back to the military man. Lieutenant Jarvis. Yes, she remembered him well.
He tried for an avuncular approach. "How are you, Audrey?"
"It's Jack. I'm fine. I don't even walk with a limp anymore, thanks." The last was said with as much sweetness and light as she could muster, but she hoped it stabbed into him. It was his fault; his bullet.
"Jack." He accepted the correction with some distaste, not understanding why she would hold onto such an unfeminine name. Fuck him. Riddick had understood her logic, and that was what really mattered. "I'm glad to hear you're doing well."
Sure you are, dickhead. Get to the point. You want me to sell out Riddick, right?
"I have been authorized to make you an offer... Jack... by the Military Intelligence department."
Now there's one hell of an oxymoron.
Jarvis picked up a file folder with the official seals of the Tribunal on it. He held it out to her. "We would be willing to incur the expenses of training you as a pilot, and provide you with an immediate, honorable discharge afterward, should you wish to return to civilian life. In exchange for--"
"Riddick, right? You want me to rat him out." She locked eyes with him and then dropped the folder to the floor, letting its contents scatter. "No deal."
"Miss Kowalczyk, this is possibly your one chance to acquire the normal life you seem to want. I don't understand why you're throwing it away for someone who abandoned you four years ago."
"I've never had a normal life, Lieutenant Jarvis. And thanks to your bullet, I never will. No picket fences and rug-rats for this lady, right? Anyway, I wouldn't know what to do with a normal life if I got one. Thanks anyway."
Jarvis had flinched when she mentioned his bullet. Damn well should, you shithead. You're the reason Riddick had to leave without me.
She turned away from him without another word and fixed her attention back on Parker. He looked deeply offended. Too bad. They were the ones who decided to go off the page. It wasn't her fault if they didn't like her ad-libs. They could've stuck to the script. The silence spooled out for a long moment, growing increasingly tense. Jack merely watched Parker expectantly. It was his line now.
Finally he cleared his throat and returned his attention to her file. "Very well. Here are your travel documents. You will be going to New Ecuador, as you requested. The Herkimer Placement Agency has been forwarded your records and will assist you in obtaining an apprenticeship contract on a ship. Your shuttle leaves in two hours. I wish you the best of luck for your future."
The scene, thank God, was concluding. Jack rose, collected the documents from his desk, and shook his hand. "Thank you, Sir," she said one last time. Still perfectly poised, perfectly correct.
She left the room with her head held high, pretending not to hear the angry muttered "Bitch!" one of them uttered just as the door swung closed.
She followed Mrs. Baxter down to the building entrance, where her bags were being loaded into the school's transport. Finally. She was almost free. She could begin building a life for herself, a life of her own. In fourteen more hours, she would officially be eighteen years of age, and her records would be permanently closed to the galaxy until her death. She'd be just another woman.
The thought carried her to the shuttle terminal, until she saw the stiff man with the "Kowalczyk" sign waiting for her. His expression, as she approached him with her baggage cart, was one of extreme distaste.
"Miss Kowalczyk," he began impatiently, "I am Matthew Saunders of the Herkimer Placement Agency. I will be accompanying you to New Ecuador. I want to be honest with you. With your history, it is going to be very difficult to find a ship willing to take you on as crew. Your association with Richard B. Riddick is not the sort of thing that inspires confidence. It will probably take a while to find a Captain willing to take the kind of risk you pose."
Understanding flooded through her and she realized that she'd been royally fucked. No wonder they'd let her leave a day early! It had been their backup plan, in case they couldn't convince her to become their stooge; they'd release her while her records were still public knowledge, so that everybody would know who she'd been. No clean slate for her. When her records were hidden from the public in fourteen hours, it would be too late. Everyone who counted would already know she was "Riddick's Bitch." They'd made sure of it.
Fucking bastards. She was well and truly screwed.
2.
Jack: Getting The Call
"Lights," Jack muttered, entering her apartment. Nothing happened. "God damn it, lights on!"
One cheap halogen bulb finally flickered to life, illuminating her grubby one-room efficiency. Jack kicked the door shut behind her and pulled off her uniform. She smoothed it out carefully and hung it in her meager closet, trading it for a pair of sweats. She had four hours to sleep before her next shift started.
In the three months since her arrival in New Ecuador, she'd converted almost everything she'd owned into hard currency, including most of her clothes. There wasn't any point in keeping them under the circumstances, and she needed the money. Even the combination of waitressing and working as a hospital porter while the agency clucked over her file was barely letting her scrape by. New Ecuador, that exciting, glowing, cosmopolitan planet, was prohibitively expensive to live on.
She'd calculated how long it would be before she couldn't even afford to keep this place, and she had another month and a half left. Only a month if she wanted to have enough for the fare to New Mecca. Imam's offer, as little as she wanted to accept charity, still stood. She could go live with him if nothing came through in the next four weeks.
She'd come to the conclusion that the agency had no real intention of placing her. They were abetting Jarvis and his military cronies, stalling her until she was destitute and had to trade her integrity for her survival. Didn't matter. They wouldn't get her to do it, no matter what.
She curled up in the lumpy bed and closed her eyes. Sleep was something she'd come to regard as a necessary evil. The nightmares had started again a month ago, the ones in which she was fleeing through the darkness, winged horrors at her heels. Only now, the creatures had Jarvis' face as they pursued her. She ran, crying for Riddick to save her. He would appear out of the darkness, calling to her that she was safe now... only to be impaled on the Jarvis-Creature's arm-spikes--
"NO!"
She bolted up from her bed, sweating and shaking. That final image still swam before her, Riddick staring at her in astonishment and betrayal as he realized he'd been killed, realized that she'd led his killer to him.
"Never," she whispered, wiping away the tears that spilled out of her eyes. "I'll never betray him..."
She flung herself back down on the bed. "Fuck you, Jarvis!" she shouted at the low ceiling.
She still had an hour until she was due to leave for work, but she knew she wasn't going to get any more sleep. After a moment she dragged herself out of bed and headed for the shower.
She used almost no hot water; it was too expensive. After three months of shivering she had grown used to it, although she would never like it. It reminded her of that other rain, as she and her friends had fled through the louring darkness toward a salvation that not all of them would reach. She washed as quickly as she could and stepped out, wrapping a towel around her. At least New Ecuador was a warm planet.
She examined her face in the mirror for a moment. Not too bad. Dark green eyes, light brown hair with natural glints of blonde in it, curling halfway down her neck. She'd been so proud of herself when she'd shaved it off, but she'd been even more touched when Riddick asked her to grow it out. She wondered how long she would let it get. It was so thick it already gave her a lot of trouble.
The eyes were still a little bit red from crying, she noticed. Oh well. There would be no sign of that by the time she reached the hospital. She still had more than half an hour, though. Might as well call the Herkimer Agency and harass them again. She made a point of doing it once a day, ever since she'd come to her conclusion of their true intentions. If they thought ignoring her would make her go away, they were in for a surprise. At least, for one more month they were.
She pulled on some clothes at random -- didn't matter what she wore, she'd be changing into scrubs when she got to work -- and headed for the comm unit. It surprised her by beeping before she could touch it. Someone was calling her.
It was probably a wrong number, but she might as well answer it. She hit the "Receive" button.
"Jack Kowalczyk." Occasionally she toyed with the notion of answering the comm by calling herself "Riddick's Bitch," but she'd never gotten up the nerve.
She was astonished to hear Matthew Saunders' voice on the other end of the call. "Miss Kowalczyk, I'm glad I caught you at home. We may have a position for you with a small merchant vessel, if you are interested."
Was she interested? Damn right she was, but after three months of neglect she wanted to play the game right back at him. "How small?"
"The only other crew member is the Captain. He's looking for someone trainable and cheap."
Fuck you too, asshole.
"He'd better not be looking for a playmate on off-hours."
"Nothing like that, Miss Kowalczyk. Our agency has nothing to do with such transactions, I assure you." Man definitely had some kind of rod up his rectum.
"Sorry," she responded, not quite letting him know how sorry she wasn't. "It was that 'cheap' part. Wanted to make sure you didn't mean what it almost sounded like."
A pause. Saunders was reconsidering his phrasing and maybe realizing how rude it was. She doubted he'd apologize, though. He'd made it clear that he thought she was beneath dirt back when they'd first met.
"So what kind of shipping does this guy do?" she prodded. "Is this deep space or small hops?"
"A mixture of both, apparently. He's been in the business for about two years, according to his ships' records. We think he may be a smuggler trying to go legitimate."
"So is that the reason he's not spooked by my history?" She knew that they probably routinely told anyone who perused her file about her connections with the most dangerous escaped convict in the galaxy.
"He said it might even come in handy, actually."
Great. Just what she needed, someone hoping to capitalize on her shady past. Still... it was this or another month of rice and beans and sixteen-hour workdays before she took a trip to New Mecca.
"What are the terms?"
"He's offering full board and fifteen percent of the net profits."
Fuck it. She was off of this rock right now. Riddick had taught her a few useful moves before they'd been separated; if this guy was a perv she'd deal with him. She wanted out of here.
"Done. Where do I meet him?"
Yet another pause. Had Saunders actually thought she'd turn it down? Too bad for him if he had. "You will need to travel to Seti Station. His ship is berthed there undergoing repairs."
"Seti Station's two star-jumps from here. Is he paying for my flight there?"
"He's paid for a round-trip ticket, Miss Kowalczyk. He said that there was always the possibility that you would choose not to join him once you met, and he didn't want you to worry about being stranded if that happened."
Smart man. She liked him more and more, even though she'd never met him. She had a feeling she wouldn't be using the return ticket, suddenly. People who showed you where the exits were generally were safe to be around. Another thing Riddick had taught her.
"When can I leave?" She realized that she was actually starting to get excited about this. Adventure at last!
"The next ship we can put you on is in two hours. Can you make it?"
"I'll be there. You meeting me at the station, or should I just ask for my ticket at the counter?"
"I'll see you off, Miss Kowalczyk." He sounded a little too relieved.
"See you soon, then." She hit the disconnect button and punched in the hospital code. Time to tell them that she was shipping out.
She gave the diner the same courtesy, and then grabbed her meager possessions and tossed them into her pack. Ten minutes later she and all of her remaining worldly goods were on their way. On the way out the door, she coded the lock so that the landlord would know his tenant had vacated permanently. He could start fleecing someone else any time he wanted.
So long, New Ecuador... the planet had kinda sucked for her, anyway.