Riddick lay in the dark on the alien ship, his former home wet with sweat while he waited on what felt like the damn edge of the station. From his vantage point, he could see a few of the station’s support stations glimmering in the distance that were now a huge part of his life.
He glanced at his makeshift spacecraft cockpit, a box of a space, or rather, as he thought of it, again, living quarters that had been a part of a larger space habitat and was excised by him and his fellow exiles group a long time ago.
He hated everything about it: the pulsing red lights that would illuminate whenever one of the computerized security monitored detected movement in the vessel; the uncomfortable seats; the way the view panels were painted over with sticky, bright yellow paint — that would be his view for the foreseeable future; their eventual goal of the great beyond, wasn’t meant for the likes of them, for he knew the truth of it.
He glanced again at the small blue light on the panel providing power. They were on was a long trip, the journey from their home world to this of all places, yet, he had no choice but to sit and wait.
He sighed with satisfaction. He was alive and had a purpose.
As he sat and watched the throbbing red lights illuminate one by one, he remembered his childhood again. Some weird sort of zany childhood, but good nonetheless.
He remembered that he had led the life of the typical killer-for-hire the outlaws in the transport vessels had worked for. He had not even been aware of the other unusual thing about him he had been abducted by a clan of Nacours, an extradimensional species with the ability to survive in any environment as a child and raised in an alien colony 3,000 light years from Earth. He had been born on Earth and lived for ten years as other kids did.
He remembers fighting in a small school, then being abducted by a Clan (as they referred to themselves as) of Nacours.
He remembers fifty odd years later when venturing into the cargo bay of an alien craft while scavenging stuff being sucked by the pod into an alien wormhole and being transported billions of light years to an alien Earth. The rest, as they say, is history.
He remembered all of those things with surprising clarity, nearly every day he would wake up from one of his many energy naps and find himself thinking about his childhood.
At contact, he was horrified when he learned the truth of his origins, but, within a few weeks after arriving, realized he couldn’t care less what species he was. These were good people and, as he had come to believe, family. What they were doing was better than killing. He had a new family and he was satisfied.
Back at base, the eighteen other exiles who had survived the fall and rise of the Earth had gained a reputation for being ruthless and vicious.
It was said that they would do anything and go anywhere to get their hands on their precious fuel. When it was believed they had been wiped out by another crew, they were not even upset; they were relieved, and immediately set out on the journey to this last location.
He remembered that seven days after the explosion that occurred when the station had been over-run, sixteen exiles stronger in their spacecraft and swarms of their fighters had left for this unknown location.
He also remembered that journey with surprising clarity, like with his childhood, as well. He remembered so much of it with ease, he knew they were capable of getting power at any time, they just couldn’t risk being caught searching during the daylight hours. That would get them killed.
It had been nearly a year since they left and none of them knew how long this journey would be, but, if he remembered correctly, they had a full year’s worth of power, three months’ of food, and they had observed gravity as they were sucked into this new wormhole and felt the station move as it changed its location.
He remembered how their habitat had been towed, he remembered the journey, he knew time and time again, he remembered vividly their pain as they were hunted by Galimaufry and his crew, but he remembered the usual carefulness of their other-dimensional enemies whenever the station passed by.
He knew that they would not all survive long, but he drew a line in the sand and said simply, as all his tribe has always said, that they would not be taken or erased onboard another ship. He swore all of them to survival. They had seen what they had lost and they could not risk losing any more of their kind.
He was not a leader in his former clan, but, at the moment, he was the leader of the new clan that would defend this new world, Earth’s last family. And he would lead them to victory, no matter what it took to survive.
He remembered all of those things, and he remembered so much more as he lay and waited. He didn’t have time to think of them. If he did — he would die. He knew that and resolved to live in the moment and in the place they had chosen.
He would not feel sorry for his kind. He wanted no regrets at what they had known and would not have to live with the fact that their deaths were pointless. They would be remembered as valiant and courageous. That’s what he wanted to be remembered as.
He didn’t have time to think the thoughts, but he knew it. His mind was a dangerous thing. They didn’t have a lot of time, as he knew that if they stayed far enough away from the luxury, they would be safe from detection, but neither could they possibly escape from the wrath of Galimaufry if they were discovered.
They were stuck and the choice was to remain anonymous and safe, or, to seize the power and work to the next level and look to consume what they needed to survive. He decided to do the former. They were safe in the shadow, as he was known as a scavenger among the exiles.
He thought of his childhood again. He had hated being waiting in the dark.
He shook the thoughts off and thought of the new-found purpose. The delicate feelings he’d had as he was stranded on the Earth, just waiting to be caught, had been roused again. He remembered being abandoned by his alien family as they made their way out of the station as they heard some major explosions. He remembered they could not afford to leave him behind.
The remaining humans were left alone on the space station as it made its way to Earth’s surface. The precision of timing thereafter had been too much for their pursuers to allow for the exiles. It had been the most precise timing over several decades, but it had been worth it.
