Acid and Steel (Riddick / Alien Resurrection)

Notes on this chapter:

Obviously I have started this story at a point of time when Ripley 8 isn't able to speak yet, just because no one has taught her how to do that. Now, from Riddick's talking, she's learning fast.

The last chapter had her say 'Riddick', and I like to think that this is the first word that ever came off her lips. She would have asked for help, if she had known the word; but the only word that has ever been spoken to her in my story is Riddick's full name when he introduced himself, so there.

I know that Ripley 8 is supposed to be cloned with at least the partial memories of the original Ellen Ripley, but I think that language is something that has to be learned, no matter what your memories are. A person who had a stroke has to learn to speak again, too, even if that person, too, still has own memories.

As the scientists are so surprised and proud in the movie that Ripley 8 is so clever, I assume that all other "normal" clones are not, hence the "retarded clones".

I am referring to several scenes from Alien - Resurrection in this chapter.

There is one with Ripley 8 and a scientist eating at one table; he tries to teach her the word "fork", she replies "fog?", as if she had heard that word before. Where the hell could she have heard that, with people who would try and teach her "cherries" and "glove" (at a later point of time in that movie)?

Also later in the movie, she's using 'fuck' several times ("Who do I have to fuck to get off this boat?"), obviously exactly knowing what that means and I strongly doubt the neatly dressed scientists would have taught her that.

And someone must have taught her how to play baseball, right?

Of course I'm also referring to the 'fast learner' quote, though in the movie this is only used for the aliens.

And if you're with me and assume that the events of this story take place before the events in Pitch Black, you'll also see why Riddick is so fascinated of Jack's attempts to imitate him in that movie. I never quite understood why he was, unless he had seen something like that before and had fond memories.

Many, many thanks go out to Magicflute for *quite* some inspiration on this chapter. Honestly, darling, without you I'd still stare at "3." with nothing behind it as I did this morning...



It merely took her a night to recover so far that she could sit up by herself again.

Amazing, Riddick thought.

Something had changed; she was now observing him with curious eyes in whatever he was doing instead of ignoring him. Started to imitate him, actually.

He was surprised about the extent of that imitation. Held her cup like he did, stepped back from the door when food was brought like he did.

On one occasion he caught her trying to pee standing like he did. Unsuccessfully, of course; but she didn't seem to be embarrassed by it.

Still, she didn't speak.

An idea grew on him, slowly, surely.

Could it be possible that she couldn't speak? No, she had said his name when she had been in pain.

Could it be possible that she knew no other words because no one had ever spoken to her before?

The idea behind this assumption made him freeze.

Could it be possible that she was a clone? It would fit; the perfect skin, the muscles that seemed to be there without exercising them, the too soft, curly brown hair, the absent scent.

Immature beings, no matter of what species, had next to no scent to protect them from natural enemies. Even if her body was that of an adult, if she was that young because of the cloning process and even if she was probably growing faster than hell, her scent would still be that of an immature being.

And if she still hadn't learned how to speak then she couldn't be too old, six months perhaps.

Riddick had to put that theory to a test.

"Hey." He said while she was lying on her bed above him. "Can you speak? More than my name, I mean?"

No answer; but a second later a face appeared next to the bed. She looked down at him, eyes wide open, curious.

"Speak." He let the word roll over his tongue slowly and made an accompanying gesture with his hand into her direction. "Talk."

"Tawg." She repeated not really successfully.

"Oh fuck me." He growled, jumped up and went over to the door, banging his fist against it. "Someone get me out of here, I'm not staying in one cell with a retarded clone!"

"Fog?" He heard her soft voice behind him.

Yeah, fog, he thought. Something I'm not going to teach you.

The window in the door opened, he backed away; just half surprised to see the woman already standing by the wall.

And he couldn't even blink in surprise before he was fired at with an energy weapon.

When he woke up he was in a different cell. Large. Round. Steel, rusty steel. Floor made of grid; high above him a window. Someone walked around up there, so it was out of question that this glass was thick; too thick to break through, probably.

The retarded clone wasn't there. But her cup was, sitting right next to his on something that ran all around the round cell and could be called a bench.

He took his time to do some thinking.

Clones, he thought, were a nuisance. Something that naturally shouldn't exist. Couldn't exist. No matter how fond he was of her so far, but being penned up with a clone was something he didn't want. They were stupid, they tried stupid things and no matter how fast they grew, they remained stupid. As if the brain refused to function in such an unnatural lifeform, refused to grow with the same speed as the body that held it.

Not that they needed a brain, though. They were mostly bred for replacement part purposes of the original. One hundred percent compatibility; no matter which body part had to be replaced.

Except of the brain, of course.

He was curious about who the 'original' to that clone was. Now that one would probably be interesting, he thought.

The one question Riddick didn't have an answer to, however, was why a clone would be imprisoned in slam. With him, even.

Unless, of course, if this here wasn't slam.

He had heard of illegal science laboratories and so far he had done everything to stay far, far away from them.

The shit he'd be in if this here was one of them piled up so high that he didn't even dare to see the top of it.

In slam, life was hard. No doubt about that. But unlike a laboratory, a slam had certain codes, certain honors. Your life was worth money in slam. Not in a lab. There, only your entertainment factor could prevent death.

Riddick had never been someone who wanted to be entertaining.

Teasing, yes. Testing people's limits, yes. Entertaining, no.

Being teased or tested, however, was something he hated with surpassing passion. Even more than having to live with a retarded clone.

Perhaps he could teach her some tricks to keep himself entertained, he thought. Something simple that even she would be capable of. Swear words seemed a good idea, in case the scientists would ever talk to her.

And perhaps he could help her train that body. Not that he felt the need to touch her any more. Retarded clones were not entertaining in bed. Or elsewhere, sexually. But just to have some entertainment, some good sight for himself. Something he could get off on with himself.

Not that he needed that, though; but it held some interesting perspective. Like a living centerfold.

The door opened, she came in.

And good grief, she had changed.

Gone was the hilarious nightgown. She was wearing boots, trousers, a vest. All brown leather, all hugging her curves in a manner that for a moment he could have forgotten about the fact that she was a clone. Damn, he thought.

She had a ball. Basketball, as it seemed. Tossed into his direction; he caught it one handed and stared at her.

Her eyes were sparkling. Unnatural for a clone, in case something could be considered unnatural for an unnatural being.

"Play." She demanded.

Yeah, play, he thought, play with yourself, you stupid piece of meat.

Riddick dropped the ball to the floor and ignored her.

Just to find the ball hit his head with brutal force a moment later.

She stared at him, her eyes were still sparkling.

"Play." She demanded again. It wasn't a question, it was an order.

Clones, he thought, were usually shy. They didn't consciously put up a fight like she did right now. From the look in her eyes he could tell that she exactly knew what she was doing there.

He rose slowly from the bench, letting out an intimidating growl in the process.

Of course she tried to imitate it, but it sounded weird coming from her.

"Okay." He said. "Let's see how you can catch that ball." He crooked his finger, indicating her to throw.

And damn, she could throw a ball. But he could also catch it, felt his hand burning from the hard impact.

"Wanna play rough? That you can have." He growled and threw, instantly being surprised that she caught the ball like he had done on her first try - with an outstretched arm.

"Fast learner." He commented dryly. "Such a pity we don't have a basket in here, but just a bit of dribbling will do for a start, I guess."

They dribbled, threw, tried to avoid each other with the ball for a long time.

Riddick noticed that she was either learning extremely fast or had played ball before. The latter was rather unlikely, the first was almost impossible.

At least for a stupid clone.

And she was sweating, and damn, that sweat looked incredible on her. The leather clothes were dark and stained, her skin glistening but she didn't seem to get tired.

And then, when he was really close to her and she was sweating badly, he caught a first hint of a scent from her and it irritated him to no end.

Sulfur.

No human being, clone or not, could smell like sulfur. It just wasn't possible. Incompatible with life.

For some time he thought that what he was smelling there was the scent of the leather's tanning process, activated by her warmth and sweat. Not that he had ever heard of leather being tanned with anything that just remotely smelled like sulfur, though.

Then, when he was sure that she wasn't paying attention to it, he caught a drop of sweat from her with his index finger and tasted it.

Sour. Not salty, as sweat should taste.

Sulfur.

Not enough to hurt his tongue or skin, but definitely acidic.

He instantly froze, the finger still in his mouth, and stared at her.

She stood there, dribbling the ball from one hand to the other and smiled, her head slightly cocked.

"What are you?" He whispered.

She just smiled on and kept dribbling, obviously waiting for him to participate again.

Perhaps, no, probably she didn't know the answer herself, he thought.

Not that it really mattered for the moment, though. He just knew that he was looking at - something - that was probably deadlier and weirder than anything he had ever seen before.

If her sweat was slightly acidic, then he didn't want to know what her blood would be like.

Definitely an illegal science lab, he concluded groaning. He was fucked. Not that he knew what his purpose here was, but still, he was definitely fucked.

Be entertaining, his survival instinct told him. Be entertaining or you're dead.

And playing ball with someone who looked like her, smelling like sulfur or not, pumping battery acid through her veins or not, wasn't that bad after all.

So he just continued to do just that.

For the moment.

Time to get some information, he thought grimly.

-----------------------------

The two scientists, of course, watched them again; this time through a monitor wall that showed the cell from different perspectives.

"He's starting to ask questions." The first said.

"Yeah, and she doesn't have answers." The other one noticed.

"Damn, it's time he teaches her something instead of asking questions." The first replied.

"Oh, I'm quite satisfied with her play down there." The second chuckled.

"Yeah, but isn't he supposed to teach her, like, playing with other balls?" The first grunted.

"At least he still knows the word for it."

"Yeah, fog." The first laughed.

"I think we'll have to teach her to speak more. I doubt he'll start to see her as a sexual partner before she speaks."

"Interesting, didn't we choose him because he's supposed to be not into speaking?"

"No, we chose him because we thought that she might find him attractive and because we thought that he might survive more than one night with her."

"Should have raped her when he still could." The first laughed. "Would have broadened his chances to survive more than one night in case she's not at all interested in what he has to offer."

The second said nothing in reply.