My Own Kind of Freedom [Firefly] by Steven Brust (2007)
Posted on February 15th, 2008
Eighteen months previous
The silky voice said, "Let’s try it again, Miss Tam."
The silky voice always called her ‘Miss Tam.’ The sweet voice and the monotonous voice called her "River." The silky voice was the worst.
As it spoke, her skin tingled and colors danced in little spots before her eyes—colors that sounded deep and threatening and tasted of salt and gun metal.
"Now, Miss Tam, bring the lines together."
Only there weren’t any lines, there were only dots.
"Focus on the lines, Miss Tam."
Something twisted inside of her head, and the dots became gray, their sizes pulsated, and she was falling, falling, falling into them.
She tried to scream, but there was something in her mouth.
She fell through one of the dots, which splintered and became infinite.
She wished she could scream.
Eight years previous
He hated this.
No, he really, really hated this.
The flying part was fine. He had no trouble with the flying part. He liked the flying part.
It was the part where people kept shooting at him that he had a problem with.
And then there was the ship. He wasn’t fond of the ship. In general, the Vortec LC 9 "Gopher" was a fine mid- to low-level interceptor: fast and maneuverable in lower atmo once you learned her tricks, decently armed, and with truly astonishing vertical acceleration. But he just couldn’t be happy flying a ship with a third of a wing and both rudders shot off by a SAM that had also taken out half her thrust.
"Pioneer Blue six. Mayday, mayday. Have taken hit from surface to air missile, am going down. Stand-by for location. Transmitting . . .now."
His weapons man’s voice came into his left ear. "Hey, Chill, did I just hear you say something about us going down?"
"Well, Archie, the ship is going down. If you can think of a way to stay up here without it, I’ll be okay with that."
"We’re over Alliance territory. We’ll be captured for sure."
"Okay, Arch. You’re right. I changed my mind. We’ll just keep flying with no thrust and no control."
"Don’t be mean, Chill."
"Sorry."
He slid in and out of a glide, managing to lose speed and altitude without quite stalling. Or, at any rate, only stalling intermittently.
"Okay, we’re below mach one. Ready to go for a ride?"
"Not really. You sure we have to do this?"
There was a lurch that re-arranged Wash’s backbone as the gravboot tried to suck up more than it could handle, gave out, and came in again as best it could.
"I’m sure. Eject! Eject! Eject!"
A moment later he said, "Arch?"
"Sorry, Chilly-boy. Something else is busted too."
"Can’t eject?"
"Nope. How ’bout yours?"
"I don’t know. Well, partner, this is going to be fun."
"What are you going to do?"
"Land."
"Chilly, you should bail."
"A little silence, please. The doctor is at work."
He fought with and against the ship, with and against gravity. The ground was coming up fast. "Like a leaf on the wind," he murmured.
Nine years previous
She found him on a makeshift road, just inside one of the guard posts. He seemed lost in thought, but greeted her with a nod.
"Well, that wasn’t so bad, Sergeant."
"No, it wasn’t. I could get used to seeing the Alliance run. The Colonel knows his business."
"Why, Sergeant, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say a kind word about an officer."
"Probably the last, too."
"We held the town, anyway."
The sergeant glanced at her. "Okay, Zoë. What is it?"
"Well, we’ve survived a battle. I mean, not a hit-and-run grab at supplies, but a real battle."
"Right."
"And we even won."
"I believe we did, yes."
"And most of the men performed well."
"I noticed that same thing."
"A couple of minor wounds, and, compared to what we had before, pretty good medical care. The men are pleased about that, Sergeant."
"I hear a ‘but’ on the way, Zoë."
"Are we going to get a real meal sometime in here, Sergeant?"
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I ought to check on that."
"They’d appreciate it."
The Sergeant nodded, started back toward the encampment, then stopped and looked down the road again. "We should move around behind them and take a shot at their supply line. Even if they have enough ducks to chase us out, it’ll put the fear of God into them. They’ll be running all the way back to Cheska by morning."
"Going to suggest that to the Colonel, Sergeant?"
"No need. He’ll come up with it himself. Those poor bastards."
"Who? The enemy?"
"Yeah. They have no idea what they’re going to run into."
"Lambs to the slaughter, Sergeant."
"That’s the honest truth, Zoë," he said, and led the way back.
Three years previous
Kaylee heard her name called and pulled herself out from under the aft inertia interlock.
"Yes, Cap’n?"
The Captain and Zoë were standing there, flanking a tall, broad-shouldered man with a wide, sensuous mouth and bright eyes. Yum, said a little voice in her head.
She gave him her warmest smile.
"Kaylee, meet Jayne, our newest crew member. Jayne, Kaylee is our mechanic."
She stood up, wiped her hands on her coveralls, and stuck out her hand. He wrapped it in his massive paw and grinned.
"This deal keeps getting better and better," he said looking her up and down.
Kaylee frowned, glanced at the Captain, then at Zoë. "Huh," she said, and climbed back under the interlock unit.
"She always this friendly?" said the new guy.
"No, I think you’re special," said Zoë.
"I’ll introduce you to the pilot," said the Captain, and three sets of footsteps retreated.
I hate it when they open their mouths and ruin everything, thought Kaylee, and returned to her work.
Six months previous
I’m sending this with a twelve hour delay from a public terminal. By the time you receive it, we will be aboard a ship and well away from this world. Obviously, I’m not going to tell you our destination; the Alliance is, I am quite certain, carefully monitoring everything you receive, from every source, wherever you are. In fact, I have no way of knowing if you’ll receive this; they may be interrupting your communication. If they are, then, may whatever Alliance officer is reading this zai ta qiaoxiao diqiu de mianqian shoudao qian shang qian si de siwang.
And, yes, as you know by now, River is with me.
She was tortured, experimented on, and damaged. By any reasonable definition, she has been turned into a psychotic. And I do mean turned into: there are unmistakable signs of organic damage. They cut into her brain.
At times, she is my sister. I hope to increase the frequency and duration of these moments. At present, I’m trying different cocktails of psychotropic medication with varying amounts of success. Perhaps there is a corrective surgery that could undo the damage inflicted on her in that place, but we can’t go to a real hospital without the Alliance finding her and putting her back in the Academy, where they would continue torturing and twisting her. This I will not allow.
I really don’t know if you’ll be reading this, and I don’t know how you’ll respond. I’m surprised to discover that there is a part of me that actually cares. I will, perhaps, have the opportunity to message you again when there are further developments with your daughter.
Until then, I remain,
Simon
Nine years previous
He usually liked hanging out with Shorty, because it made him seem taller, more cultured, and certainly more intelligent. Usually. Just now he wasn’t enjoying it at all.
"Okay, Shorty," he said, "what I don’t understand is why you went to so much work to make sure the alarm went off. If you’d ignored the gorram thing—"
"I was trying—"
Shorty ducked as three bullets raised a cloud of plaster dust over his head.
"Corn, I was trying to see if it had been fixed."
"Speaking of fixed," said Jayne, tapping his belt knife while glaring at the smaller man.
Shorty scowled and didn’t dignify the threat with an answer.
Shorty was a foot shorter than Jayne, which wasn’t really that short, but Jayne had given him that name to sort of remind him who was in charge. Shorty didn’t much care for that, but so far hadn’t objected.
"How many of them you think are out there, Corn?" asked Shorty.
"At least three."
"Between us and the door?"
"At least two. Probably all of them."
"And there have to be more coming."
"Yeah. The skimmer’s running, though."
"If we can get to it."
"How much do you weigh?"
"Why? You planning to throw me past them?"
"Not exactly."
Jayne reached around and grabbed Shorty by his belt with one hand and the back of his neck with the other, then lifted him.
"What the—"
"You know, Shorty, I always hated it when you called me Corn."
He made a break for the door.
By the time he made it to the door, Shorty had been hit at least five times, and probably more. He threw the remains into two of them who were bunched together and charged the third, taking a graze above the hip. Then he was on top of the third, then he was out the door, and, yes, the skimmer was running.
Thirty seconds later he was around the corner and headed out of town.
Jayne sighed. Not the best result for that job: couldn’t get to the vault and the money in the tills wasn’t anything to retire on. And he was bleeding. And his sister was going to need a new husband. And he was going to need a new world to live on.
He didn’t waste time going home; just headed straight for the docks.
Four years previous
"You’re a remarkable young man," said the woman.
"Ma’am?"
She seemed to be only a few years older than he was; too young to be calling him "young man." But there was something about the over-lit, antiseptic office, devoid of all traces of personality, that hinted at both power and wisdom, forcing on him the feeling that she had the right to address him that way; and, he realized, causing him to address her as "ma’am" without his having made any conscious decision to do so. Interesting. Who was she, anyway?
"Do you know why you’re here, Lieutenant?"
"I haven’t a clue. I was told to come in for an exit interview, but—" he made a point of looking around the large office, "—this certainly isn’t an exit interview in any normal sense."
She nodded slowly. Her nose was sharp as a beak, which added to her effect, as did her short, regulation haircut, and the severe outfit she wore—civilian garb that nevertheless hinted at the military. And then there was the mark on the side of her forehead: unmistakable sign of near-miss by a splitter. And a laser burn on her neck.
"As I said, a remarkable young man. I refer to what you’ve picked up on."
"Excuse me, ma’am—" why fight it? "But the office, well, it seems obvious."
"That part, yes. I refer to everything else you’ve already put together about who I am, and who I represent. That would tell you what you’re doing here, if you let it."
"I don’t—"
"Go on, Lieutenant Merlyn. Tell me."
He nodded. If it was a test, well, he had always enjoyed tests. "You’ve served in the line, and been wounded at least twice."
"Go on."
"You were military intelligence at one time, but you’re no longer with the Alliance Forces."
"Which tells you what?"
"Uh . . . some branch of the feds—that is, Alliance Security—that I’ve never heard of?"
"What sort of branch?"
"Doing what you did with military intelligence?"
"Very good. So, what are you doing here, at just the time you want to leave the army?"
He blinked. "You want to recruit me," he stated.
"Yes."
"I don’t . . . I’d have thought that, if someone thought I was qualified for that, I’d have been recruited during the war. Or at least tested."
"What was your last mission?"
"We were assigned to track down a renegade group of . . . oh."
She nodded.
"The lieutenant was one of us," she added.
"Which is why he kept making me make all the decisions."
"Yes."
"And the promotion meant I passed the test."
"Yes. And then, of course, they laid down arms."
"And I had no intention of making a career of this, and so—"
"Which bring us to my first question: why not?"
"Why not what? Become career military? I hate the army."
"Then why did you re-enlist?"
"The war was still on."
"So you enlisted as an idealist."
"Actually, I enlisted as a private."
"Out of a sense of conviction. Because of the cause."
"Ugh. If you want to put it that way."
"What would you call it, Lieutenant?"
"I—all right."
"You were born in a blackout zone in New Tuscany on Ariel. Most people from your background join the army because it’s their only way out."
"I had an uncle—"
"We know about your uncle."
Kit nodded.
"My point, Lieutenant, is that the war is over, and the problems are just beginning. The Independents have surrendered; that doesn’t mean there isn’t work to be done. And, on top of that, what will you do? Beyond leaving the army, how far have your plans gone?"
"Well, I was thinking about a week-long bender on one of the core worlds."
"And after that?"
"I’m not sure. I’d been thinking about going into teaching."
She nodded. “I’m not surprised; you’d be a good teacher. You read people extraordinarily well. But you’d also be good at what you’re already half trained for. Reading people is a big part of our work, too. And the pay is a little better."
"It shouldn’t be."
"I know. You’d also get training I think you’d enjoy.”
“Training in–?”
“Many things. How to break electronic codes, for starters; you seem to have an aptitude.”
He shrugged. "Suppose I take you up on your offer. You say there’s work to be done. What sort of work?"
She frowned. "There are things—"
"Excuse me. I asked that because I have some ideas of the sorts of things this department does, and—"
"And you want no part of them."
Kit nodded.
"I think we’ll be able to find you work you’ll be happy to do."
"Can you be a little more specific?"
"Not really; not until you’re sworn in."
"By which time it’ll be too late."
"You can always quit."
"Can I?"
"Yes."
Kit sighed. "You’re good at your job, ma’am."
"Meaning?"
"In spite of all reason, something in me wants to trust you."
Seven years previous
"Colonel, we’re just not getting the supplies."
"I know."
"And, so far, we’ve had four regiments assigned to the same position, with nothing but empty space on each side."
"I know."
"If they do try to come through—"
"They will. They’re massing. If it isn’t the biggest and stupidest bluff of the century, they’ll be coming."
"Well, we aren’t in any position to stop them."
"You spoke with Captain Baur?"
"Yes, sir. She gave me permission to talk to you directly."
"But couldn’t be bothered to herself?"
Mal shrugged. "She has enough on her hands. She’s trying to scavenge ammunition. And boots. And convince three other captains to take positions that weren’t assigned to them, with no orders from upstairs."
"Okay."
"So, what in the gorram hell is going on, Colonel?"
"They’re panicking, that’s what."
"Who?"
"The high command."
"Great."
"But the good news is, they sent me."
"Yes, sir."
"And it is my intention to hold this valley."
"I don’t—"
"Sergeant, you can tell Captain Baur, from me, that ammunition will be running by noon tomorrow. And we’ll have the line straightened out by this evening."
"And if they attack this afternoon?"
"We’re humped. But they won’t; they always launch their attacks in the morning. You know that."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and plan on retreating.”
“Sir?”
“We’re out too far, which is fine, so we drop back. Slowly."
"Suck ‘em in?"
"Whenever possible. Let them win a little, then hit them when they’re taking a breath. We’re holding the ground, not the positions. So be ready to fall back, in an orderly way. We’ll be keeping our flanks connected, and hitting them every time they think we won’t. The rest of the time, we make it hard for them to hit us.”
"Yes, sir. But if we aren’t dug in, I mean, if we retreat from our positions—"
"I came with fifteen batteries of anti-aircraft guns, and with a big bundle of SAMs. And I’ve been promised air cover."
"Yes, sir."
"Okay. Go do your job, and let me do mine."
"Yes, sir. And sir . . . ."
"Yes, sergeant?"
"It’s good to see you again."
Nine months previous
Supervisor White said, "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mister Merlyn. Kit. Mind if I call you Kit?"
"No problem, Supervisor."
"Call me Jerry."
"All right, Jerry."
"What’s on your mind?"
"I don’t think I’m right for this kind of work."
White frowned. "What do you mean? Are you thinking of resigning?"
"Thinking about it."
"Can you tell me what’s caused this?"
"My last mission."
"Hmm. I’m familiar with that mission; I was just looking over the report. Seems to have been completed satisfactorily."
"Thank you, Jerry."
"So, what’s the problem?"
"When I was recruited, I was promised that I’d be doing work I could be happy about."
"Happy?"
"Work I could feel good about."
The supervisor frowned, as if Kit had just started speaking a border world dialect.
"I don’t understand, Kit. What is there about that mission you don’t feel good about?"
"Jerry, what was the net result of the whole fourteen months of work?"
"An entire region was opened up for settlers. And now it’ll be irrigated, made fertile—"
"Jerry, it was irrigated before we started. And fertile. And there were settlers there. Families."
"And, according to your own information, at least ninety percent of them were Independent sympathizers."
"But they were—"
"That was a region that never surrendered, Kit. Until order was established, the war was ready to break out all over again. You want to fight the war all over again?"
"Not especially."
"We could have moved in and just slaughtered everyone there. Would that have been more humane?"
"No."
"Then exactly what should we have done?"
"Just what we did."
"And so?"
"But I want no part of it."
"You admit it needs to be done, but aren’t willing to do it?"
"Well put, Jerry. That’s exactly it. Like I said, I don’t think I’m right for this kind of work. I do the right thing, and I’m sick to my stomach afterwards. You want a tougher sort of guy than I am."
"According to your record, you’re plenty tough."
Kit just shook his head.
"Okay," said the supervisor. "Look. I’d rather not lose you. You’re good at this work, and I respect that you have a conscience. Speaking for myself, I’d rather these operations were carried out by people with some qualms now and then, instead of the polished thugs who usually go in for it. So let me make a suggestion."
"I’m listening."
"What if I give you an operation you’ll like, and approve of, and be able to feel good about? You do it, and when it’s done, we’ll talk again."
"What’s the operation?"
"It’s on Hera, collecting evidence to arrest and convict a very bad man."
"Okay, I’m listening."
Chapter 4
My Own Kind of Stupid
Serenity: Engine room
He found her in the engine room, of course. She was fiddling with something that required a large wrench in one hand and a dirty rag in the other. She looked up as he came in and gave him a big smile.
"Hello, Simon."
"Hello, Kaylee. Are you hungry?"
"A little. What did you have in mind?"
"I thought I might cook us up something to eat."
"Simon! You cook?"
He tried to decide if he ought to be offended. "There are some things I can make.”
"And you want to cook for me?"
"If you won’t be too critical."
She grinned her Kaylee grin at him, and he got that sensation in his stomach again. "When did you learn to cook?"
"Actually, River taught me a few things while we were growing up. She’s the real cook."
"Wow! I never knew! Why hasn’t she cooked here?"
"She’s made snacks for me a couple of times, but, well, there isn’t much you can do here."
"Why not?"
"For real cooking, you need a real stove, a real oven . . . you know, a real kitchen. The things they have in civilization."
She stared at him. She wasn’t smiling any more.
"Actually," she said slowly, "I’m not really hungry."
She turned back to the engine. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, then gave up and went to find his sister.
She was in her bunk, arms wrapped around her knees.
"River, are you hungry?"
"The preparation of food has been a community-building and interpersonal bonding activity since before the dawn of history. The rituals and devices associated with food preparation are nearly always, in all cultures, matters of pride and identity. You’re an idiot."
"River."
"I think there are some protein chips left in the cupboard and some soy dip in the cooler."
Zoë and the Captain showed up just as he was setting out the dip. He set the chips down in front of his sister and sat down next to her.
"That was a good call, doctor," said Mal.
"What was?"
"About Jayne selling you and your sister out to the Alliance."
His heart sank. River picked up a chip and studied it intently. "It is carbon-based," she said. "That makes it organic by definition."
"What happened?" asked Simon.
"Sudden chatter on the Alliance security channel," said the Captain, "and there’s no reason for that here. It’s in code, but we can be pretty sure what it’s about. It’s origin is in the world, on this continent.
"What are we going to do?"
"Wash is checking the sky to see if we have a clear path out. No point in running straight into an Alliance ship."
"It isn’t about me," said River.
"No," said Simon. "It’s about what they did to you, and what they want to do to you again."
"No," said River. She looked at the Captain. "It’s the Alliance agent. He’s trying to find out who you are."
"Alliance agent?" said Mal. "What Alliance agent?"
"The one you met in the canteen today."
Mal looked at River, then at Simon, then at Zoë, then at River again. "Doctor, is your sister reliable when she gets like this?"
"Uh, I have no idea."
"She is completely reliable," said River. "She is only wrong about the important things."
"Well, I’m glad we cleared that up," said Mal. He sighed. "A gorram Alliance agent. I’d be more doubtsome if it didn’t answer all sorts of questions."
The Captain and Zoë were looking at each other. Simon cleared his throat. "Feel like letting me in on this?"
"Nothing much to it," said Mal. "We saved the life of an Alliance agent today."
"Good going, sir," said Zoë.
Serenity: Dining room
He punched the intercom. "Wash?"
"I’m still checking, Mal, but it looks good."
"Skip it. Can you pinpoint the source?"
"Skip it? You mean, we’re not running?"
"Wash, I need you to pinpoint the source."
"How close do you need?"
"How close can you get?"
"Gao shenma gui, zenma hui shi? I don’t know. Give me a minute."
"A minute," said Mal.
He turned, leaned against the bulkhead, and closed his eyes. "Wo taoyan fuza,” he said, and headed up to the bridge. Zoë fell into step beside him.
"For someone who hates complications, sir, you do seem to go out of your way to create them."
"You should be used to it."
"Oh, I am."
"Well then. I’d like to get paid."
"Paid would be good, sir. What about the fed?"
"What about him?"
"We’re not going to do anything?"
"What would you suggest we do, Zoë?"
"I’m not sure, sir."
"Well, if you get any ideas, let me know."
"I have a question, though."
"Hmmm?"
"If that was a fed, who was trying to kill him?"
"Lot of folk on this world got no reason to love the Alliance."
"Yes, sir. But not loving them is one thing, killing a fed is another. And that wasn’t just killing a fed, that was planned."
"There’s something to that."
"So, what do you think, sir?"
"I think I want to get paid."
"Yes, sir."
Wash turned his head. "Paid? But I thought this job was legal. Are we supposed to get paid for legal jobs, too?"
"Did you find the source?"
"It came from about two miles away from us, Mal. I can bring up a map of town and show you the place."
"Okay, take us out of the world."
"What about being paid?"
"Don’t give up yet."
"What course should I set?"
"None. Synchronous orbit; keep us right here."
"Okay."
"Sir?" said Zoë. "Why—?"
"I’m taking the shuttle down. If something goes wrong, I want Serenity to be able to get away clean so we don’t lose River and Simon."
“And you?”
“I’m in no danger.”
“Of course not, sir. You’re going to find that Alliance agent, aren’t you?"
"Alliance agent?" said Wash. "What—?"
"Zoë," said Mal. "Why would I go seek out a fed?"
"Because you’re curious, sir, and can’t leave anything alone."
"What fed?" said Wash.
"I’ll tell you all about it, dear," said Zoë. She turned back to Mal. "But sir, I don’t think—"
"You’ll be waiting on Serenity. It shouldn’t take long."
Wash cleared his throat, "If someone could—"
"Print out that location for me," said Mal.
Zoë looked at him.
"I just want to know what to avoid," he said.
"Yes, sir," she said.
Wash generated the map, and handed it to him. He folded the e-paper, put it into his pocket, and said, "All right. Get us airborne, Wash."
"You yi tian . . .” said Wash, and turned back to the controls.
Zoë sat down in the co-pilot’s chair. Mal headed back down to the dining room to tell the others.
Yuva: Sakarya’s office
Rennes didn’t seem so large when he stood in front of Sakarya’s desk, trying not to tremble.
“Who did you send to do it?” he asked.
“Taylor and Falworth, sir. They’ve always been—”
“Idiots, Rennes. Like you. Big, slow, and stupid.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what do you know about those two who broke it up?”
“I’ve got their names, sir.”
Sakarya felt his eyebrows go up. That was fast work, for Rennes. “Do you? How did you manage that?”
“They came into the office—the other office—for payment.”
“Payment? For what?”
“They’re the ones we hired to bring the lumber for—”
“Them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you paid them?”
“No, sir. I wanted your orders on that.”
“I see. Good thinking for once, Rennes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Sakarya considered for a moment.
“All right,” he said. “Pay them in full.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get a crew together, follow them to their ship, and kill them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yuva: Kit’s aparment
Once he finished his report to Asher House and admitted to himself that staying in his home was no longer safe, it took him three minutes to shut everything down and get what he needed, and then twenty minutes to walk across town to the place he’d already prepared.
It wasn’t the safest place, but it was safer than home. And he had installed enough gear to do a reasonable amount of work once he got it set up; and certainly enough to get hold of Asher House and say, Why in the gorram hell did you just blow off my last eight months of work?
He did not, of course, get hold of the House and say that. The very best thing that could happen with such a course is that he’d get no answer. But he had the equipment to do his own checking.
Malcolm Reynolds, Zoë Washburne.
And if that didn’t bring up anything directly, it would at least be a place to start.
Those bastard in Asher House had blown eight months of investigation right at the point where—well, maybe they had a good reason. They had better have a good reason.
In any case, they had trained him to sniff out and sift through facts he wasn’t supposed to be able to get access to; so, one way or another, he was going to find out what the gorram reason was.
He set up the miscues and false addresses very carefully before entering the search parameters.
Two hours later he was scowling at the screens as if it were their fault. A little voice in his head told him that something the House went to so much trouble to hide must be too big for the likes of him.
But eight months of work, of good work, of important work, all washed away in an hour. No, no. If they were going to do that, he was bloody well going to know why.
He wiped his hands on his shirt and got down to serious work.
Serenity: Bridge
"So that’s the short version," she said.
"You rescued a fed."
"Yeah."
"And now Mal wants to go back alone to get the payment."
"To get the payment, and, unless I miss my guess, to find out about that fed."
"He’s being a hero again, isn’t he?"
She nodded.
Wash gave the boat some throttle, and Zoë felt Serenity lift, followed by a small lurch as the I-grav kicked in.
"I don’t like him going down there by himself," said Zoë.
"Yeah, well, the us being up here thing and the him being down there thing is a problem if anything goes wrong."
"That’s what I’m thinking."
"Of course, what are the chances of anything going wrong?"
"That’s the other thing I’m thinking."
"Dead certain?"
"Pretty much."
"So," he said, "what do we do? I could wait until the shuttle is launched, then land. I mean, once he’s gone, you’re in charge."
"I know."
"Mal won’t like that much."
"I know."
They didn’t speak for a moment, while Wash made the calculations for a geosynchronous orbit, and tapped it in. Then Zoë felt his eyes on her.
"Zoë, what are you thinking?"
She didn’t answer.
"You’re planning to go after him, aren’t you?"
"Of course."
"I wish you wouldn’t."
"I know."
"But you’re going to anyway."
She nodded.
Her husband sighed and turned his attention back to guiding Serenity.
Yuva: Canteen
He was careful not to drink too much, confining himself to beer that he nursed carefully, and making certain to eat. There was something going on, and he was in the middle of it, and if he made misstep, it could cost him his freedom, or worse.
The feds knew he was here, but hadn’t made contact with him. That was dangerous—it meant they might be planning to turn on him. They had once before, and he scowled at the memory. And Mal and Zoë were around, probably pissed as hell at him, and that was dangerous. And there was something strange going on, what with Mal and Zoë having saved the ass of someone he didn’t recognize, and that was dangerous. It had obviously been a trap, but for who? For him?
He could cut and run.
He still had the ginseng sitting in a rented locker; he could sell that for enough to buy passage off world. Go back and call the feds again, try for another meeting? But if he’d just missed a trap, then he’d be committing suicide by walking into the security office again.
How did this get so gorram complicated?
He muttered and drank some more beer.
The money for the crazy girl would be good, so good. But what good was money if you ended up dead or in an Alliance lockdown?
He should play it safe. He should sell that ginseng and get passage out, right now. Tonight.
He went up to the bar to get another beer, brought it back to his table, drank some, and looked around the canteen, slowly filling up with well-dressed citizens—just the sort who could afford what he was selling, and would probably love to have a rare, fine tea. He could do it. He could be away from this gorram world by tomorrow morning.
He drank some more beer.
"Naw," he decided.
Serenity: Dining room
He looked from the doctor, to Kaylee, to River. "Okay," he said. "Here’s the situation: Mal went back down in the shuttle to get our payment, and Zoë followed him in the other shuttle to keep him out of trouble."
He bit his lip, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "So, the question is, do we do what Mal wanted, or do we go down there?"
"We go after them," said Kaylee. "That’s what the Cap’n would do if it were one of us."
"I know," said Wash. "Only there are two problems with that. The first is, it’s really Simon and River who are running the risk. Second, what can we do if they’re in trouble?"
Simon shifted uncomfortably. "As to the first," he said, "I should point out that, uh, you are all harboring known fugitives, so it isn’t just us running the risk."
"You have a point there," said Wash.
"As to the second," said Simon, "I’m not sure. The thing is, I’m not sure what they’ll run into, if they do run into anything."
"It just don’t seem right to sit up here and do nothin’," said Kaylee.
"I know," said Wash.
"I’d feel better about disobeying the Captain if we had a reason. Are they in touch with us? Will we know if something goes wrong?"
"They’re both talking to Serenity, but not to each other. Mal doesn’t know that Zoë followed him yet."
"They won’t be here for two days," said River.
"Mal and Zoë?" asked Simon.
"They want their thing," said River. "They’re a long way off, but the dead travel fast."
"River?" said Simon.
"Two by two," she said.
River stood up and left the dining room, heading toward her cabin. Simon started to follow her, stopped, turned back to Wash, looked at Kaylee, and spread his hands. "Do whatever you think is right," he said, and hurried after his sister.
"Well, that makes it easier," said Wash. He sighed. A memory tugged at his sleeve, then, and he said, "You know, Kaylee, just a few days before we dropped off the Shepherd, we were sitting around reminiscing—"
"I miss him," said Kaylee wistfully.
"Me too. We were reminiscing, and he said something about how a lot of things would have been a lot easier if we had listened to River and just believed what she said."
Kaylee tilted her head and said, "Hunh."
"Yeah. I was about to ask him what he meant, but I got distracted by something. Landing, I think it was."
He shrugged.
"So," said Kaylee, "does that mean we should do what the Captain says and just wait up here?"
Wash nodded. "I’m pretty sure that’s what it means."
"All right."
"But I’m not going to."
Kaylee smiled.
Wash sighed and headed back to the bridge.
Outside Yuva
It was evening on Hera when he nursed the shuttle to a standstill. He was glad Wash wasn’t there to see the landing; but he was down safe, and nothing was damaged.
He carefully went through the shutdown process, leaving the comm on. "Wash? Let Zoë know I’m down."
"Will do, Mal."
He reset the comm for the local office, and spoke once more.
"This is Captain Reynolds. Anyone there?"
After a moment, there was an answer. "Yeah. We have your payment here."
"Going to be around for a while?"
"Another hour or so."
"I’ll be there."
Then he shut down the comm, as well.
He pulled his pistol, checked the load, re holstered it. "Okay," he muttered. "Let’s do this thing."
He left the shuttle, closed and locked it. Fifty feet away was the road; he took it.
Half an hour later he stood in the office, where the walls were white and clean and spacious, and everything blinked and hummed and flickered, and the few people who were working late were all dressed more or less like Kit had been. The place gave him the creeps.
A couple of questions led him to the right office, which turned out to be standing open. In it was a desk, and behind the desk a fat, pale man overflowed his chair, stubby hands typing at a keyboard. He looked up as Mal came in.
"Captain Reynolds?"
Mal nodded.
"Good. Sign here, please."
The fat man passed him a clipboard and a lightpen. Mal signed it, passed it back, and received a narrow piece of paper."
"What’s this?"
"A check."
"I was told—"
"Sign the back. I can cash it."
He signed it, passed it back, and received a thick envelope. He opened it and counted, getting a look but no comment from the fat man.
"All here," he said.
The other nodded. "I’m to convey Mr. Sakarya’s thanks."
Mal nodded. "If he needs anything else, he knows how to reach us."
"Indeed."
Mal stuck the envelope into his coat and left the room, heading back out of the office. Okay, good. We’ve been paid. All is well, we can get out of here now.
There were a few pedestrians on the street, most of them looking like office workers, and many of them, it seemed, heading toward the canteen.
He dug into his a pocket, and found the map Wash had given him and studied it, relating it to the landmarks he knew. It wasn’t easy.
What’s the difference? I’m not going to go hunt him up. What’s the point? He’s a fed. Bad enough to have saved his life; there’s nothing to be gained by having anything more to do with him. Nothing at all.
He stared at the paper and tried to work it out.
Pointless, he told himself.
He frowned.
Oh, right. It’s about a hundred and fifty yards that way.
He went back to the main road and followed it most of the way out of town, turning to the right until he saw a low series of bungalows.
Yep, he said. Has to be that one.
His feet carried him that way, and right up to the door.
Chapter 5
My Own Kind of Questions
Yuva
He was just about to knock on the door when he heard a crunch behind him. He turned quickly, reaching for his pistol, then stopped with it half out of the holster.
"Zoë!"
"Yes, sir?"
"What the xuexing de ta ma de diyu are you doing here?"
"I’m sorry, sir. Had you expected me to wait on Serenity while you spoke to the fed by yourself?"
"Well, seeing as how I gave that order, I sort of figured on it, yes. What about the rest of them?"
"I took the other shuttle. They’re still up in close orbit, geostationary."
"All right. Well, as long as we’re here—"
"Our friend isn’t."
"Hmmm?"
"The fed—assuming that’s what he is—left half an hour ago."
"Oh. You’ve been waiting here?"
"Yes, sir."
"I don’t suppose you know where he went?"
"Yes, sir."
"You do?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"Follow me, sir."
It was fully dark by this time. They walked through the darkened back streets of Yuva for about fifteen minutes, until they stopped in front of what seemed, in the little ambient light there was, to be a large, black object of indeterminate shape. "Here, sir," whispered Zoë.
Mal whispered back. "What is it?"
"In the light, it seemed to be a warehouse for the landing field."
"How big?"
"Not terribly."
"Okay."
He dug around in his coat pocket for a minute, then whispered, "Got some light?"
Zoë kept the light dim, but they were able to spot the door. Mal positioned himself on the side with the latch, Zoë took the other. They both drew their weapons.
Mal found the latch with his left hand, turned it. The "click" seemed very loud. The door was also loud when it opened. He waited to see if anything would happen.
When the floodlights came on, he let himself fall backward, staying near the wall, then rolled, coming to rest on his stomach, pistol pointing toward the door. Zoë was clearly visible, on one knee, pistol and head swinging back and forth.
A voice emerged from the doorway.
"I’m not going to shoot at you. I’d appreciate it if you’d be equally reserved."
"Who’s there?" called Mal.
"It’s me. Kit. I didn’t know who you were when I hit the lights."
Mal lowered his pistol, pointing it at the ground next to his foot. Zoë pointed hers at a spot on the ground midway between her and the door.
He came out, showing empty hands, though there was a pistol tucked into his belt. "I take it you were looking for me?"
"That we were."
"And I assume you didn’t save my life six hours ago in order to kill me now, so, would you like to come in?"
Mal glanced at Zoë, who stood up, holstered her gun, and shrugged. Mal stood up and holstered his own. "Well then," he said.
They followed him inside, Zoë closing the door behind them. Kit flicked a heavy switch just inside the door, presumably turning off the floodlights. They followed him down a badly lit hall to a small office, with comm equipment, monitors, and keyboard set about here and there.
"Get comfortable," he said.
Zoë rolled her eyes. "Is it it all of Hera, or just Yuva where no one believes in chairs?"
"I get the chair," said Kit, "because I got here first."
Zoë leaned against the wall, Mal took a corner of the desk. "Is this a hideout you’ve used before, or was it spur of the moment?"
"I’ve had it in mind, just in case."
Mal felt Zoë looking at him. "Best to have a bolt hole, in your line of work."
"Yes, indeed."
"Just what is your line of work?"
Now it was Kit studying him. “I’m a dentist,” he said at last.
Mal shrugged. "Look, you don’t have a cover any more; all you can do is wait to be retrieved, and hope that happens before they find you and take another shot. What harm is there in telling us?"
"I’m wondering if you’re the ones who blew my cover."
"And then saved your life?"
Kit shrugged. "I don’t know. I don’t know what your angle is. Feel like telling me?"
"You’d never believe it," said Zoë, staring at a spot over Kit’s shoulder.
"You don’t have to tell us anything," said Mal. "We’re not going to threaten an Alliance officer. And we are surely not going to try to beat it out of you. But we came into the middle of this. We want the rest of the story. If you feel like telling us."
Kit leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "What brought you to Yuva, anyway? I’ve learned who you are, but that only starts the questions. You aren’t miners, and I haven’t seen you around the office. I’d say security, but you aren’t wearing—"
"I captain a transport ship. We were hired to pick up some lumber for Mister Sakarya."
"Yeah, that matches what I learned. But is it true?"
"Sure," said the captain. "Why not?"
"Okay. You picked up some lumber. And then?"
Mal shrugged. "We were waiting to get paid, saw those two in the canteen, decided to interfere with their fun."
"Mister Sakarya," repeated Kit.
"Yes."
"What do you know of Mister Sakarya?"
"Well, I gather he’s not burdened by excessive kindness toward his employees."
"You could say that."
"He seems like a thousand others I’ve seen. Big king in a little kingdom. Probably enjoys it too much."
"Yeah, well."
"Well what?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing you can tell us about him?"
"Sorry."
"Or about what you’re doing?"
"Sorry."
"Aren’t you curious about how we blew your cover?"
"Did you?"
"Not on purpose."
Kit shrugged.
Mal said, "But then, someone tries to knock you on the head the day we show up here, and it hasn’t happened before, or you’d have been armed and expecting it. Bit hard to call it coincidence, isn’t it?"
"What’s your point?"
"That you might be curious about how it happened."
"Maybe I am."
"And if you tell us what you know, and we tell you what we know, we might both learn something."
"Sorry. Can’t do it."
"I suppose you couldn’t justify revealing anything to anyone without clearance for it."
"Close enough."
"A shame about that."
"I suppose it is."
"Do you have to tell them?"
"Yes."
"But you are curious, aren’t you, Kit?"
"I’ll admit to that. But I’m afraid, well, you know. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, Captain Reynolds."
Mal pushed himself away from the wall, nodded to Kit, and headed out. Zoë fell into step next to him.
"I have a question, sir."
"What is it?"
"Did we learn anything?"
“Well, we have a lot more questions than we did before, but, yeah, we learned some things. We confirmed that he’s a fed. And he was on sort of mission here that had something to do with Sakarya, and something about our arrival here messed up his mission and almost got him killed."
"I see. Something about our arrival."
"Right."
"Then I have another question."
"What’s that?"
"Any objection if I hunt down Jayne and blow his head off?"
“He’s off the crew.”
“So?”
"Can’t blame a snake for slithering, Zoë."
"No, sir. But if you blow its head off, you’ll slow it down some."
Yuva: Canteen
He sat in the canteen, nursing his beer, and tried to work it out. Having decided to stick around and go for the gold, he really had to know what was going on.
Okay, what exactly were the events, in order?
First, he’d made contact with the Alliance, and been told that an agent would be meeting him in the Canteen. This was the only canteen in town. The other place, down the hill, was just called, "The bar." So, he was in the right place.
Second, he’d come here, and waited about half an hour in a place that was completely empty except for the bartender. If the bartender was a fed, which didn’t seem likely to begin with, why hadn’t he said something?
Third, two guys had come in. They could have been feds—they were armed, and certainly looked like they were there for business. But why two of them? He hadn’t been told there would be two of them. That’s why he’d put his hand on his pistol the second they’d come in. But they’d ignored him completely, instead watching the door.
Fourth, Mal and Zoë had come in. He’d damn near opened fire when they’d walked through the door, figuring they’d found out what he was up to and wanted to stop him. But they’d pretended he wasn’t even there.
Fifth, the other guy came in, the one in the fancy clothes. He could have been a fed. But then those two other guys made their move, like they were going to kill him, and Mal and Zoë had saved him. No way Mal and Zoë were going to rescue a fed.
It didn’t make sense.
None of it made sense.
But he had to figure it out, because he couldn’t go into a high-risk operation like this without any idea of who was on which side, or even what the sides were.
Well, okay. Let’s just think this through.
Could Mal showing up there be coincidence? Well, sure; if they were stuck waiting for something, like payment for the job, how many other places were there? But what about that guy they saved? Mal and Zoë saved him, so no way he was a fed; that much he could count on.
So, if he wasn’t a fed, who was he? And who wanted to kill him, and why?
Why hadn’t the fed shown up, anyway? Whatever their attitude toward him, Jayne, he knew they wanted the doctor and his sister; they wanted them bad. So why didn’t they show?
He leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer, nursing it.
Outside Yuva
They were nearly back to the shuttle Mal had flown.
"Okay, sir, now we know."
"Yeah."
"At least, we might know some of it.”
“Right.”
“So, do we do anything about it?"
"Yeah. We’ve been paid, so I fly you back to Shuttle One, we get back to Serenity and get off this world."
"Good plan, sir."
"Glad you approve."
"Only one problem with it. Do you really intend to do it?"
The shuttle was there, and appeared undisturbed.
"Yeah," he said. "This is none of our concern."
"That’s what you said before, sir."
"And I was right, too."
"Yes, sir."
Mal punched the combination and door opened. They went in. Mal sat down in the pilot’s chair, flipped on the comm, and found the channel for Serenity.
"Wash?"
"Right here, Mal."
"We got paid, and we’re on the way home."
"Uh . . . ."
Zoë looked at Mal, who said, "Wash? Is there a problem?"
"Not a problem, exactly."
"Talk to me, Wash."
"Well, for one thing, Zoë went down after you."
"I know. She’s with me now."
"Oh, good. All right then."
"What else?"
"Else?"
"You said for one thing."
"Oh. Right. Well, that’s a little hard to explain."
"Wash."
"Sir," said Zoë. "We might want to hold off on this."
"Why is that?"
"Because I just caught a glimpse of something metallic out there."
"Wash, I’ll call you back."
He disconnected and drew his weapon; hers was already in her hand, though she had no memory of pulling it.
"You only saw one?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. One glint. Shouldn’t we get out of here?"
"Yes, unless there’s a weapon trained on the door, waiting for us to go over there and close it."
"You want to find out?"
"Not especially."
"Should we just stand here forever?"
"Not such a good idea either."
"We should have closed the door when we came in, sir."
"Good thinking."
Zoë shrugged and knelt down by the side of the door. Mal stood behind her.
"Ready, sir? I’ll get it."
"I’ll get it."
"No, sir. I can—"
Mal lunged across the threshold, rolling and coming up on the other side of the door.
With a small part of her brain that wasn’t otherwise occupied, she thought, You never get used to the way bullets kick into things around you so much sooner than you hear the report.
There was no need to speak. There were at least three of them, the weapons were semi-auto, and they were firing at three different levels. No way were they going out there.
The door swung closed.
"You good, sir?"
"Didn’t even feel a breeze."
"Good, then."
"I’ll fire it up," said Mal.
"Let me, sir."
"All right."
She slid herself into the pilot’s seat. Bullets continued striking the side of the shuttle. She disengaged the guidance lock, engaged the power, and armed the controls. It wasn’t as smooth as Wash would have done it, but it didn’t take a lot longer.
She put her hand on the throttle, kicked in the grav boot, and said, "Well, now what?"
"Uh, now we get out of here?"
"Not going to happen, sir."
"Uh . . ."
Zoë got up and briefly inspected the area opposite the hatch, nodded, and sat back down. "One of those shots that came in through the hatch knocked out the g-line. We’re not going anywhere, sir."
"Ah. Well. And just when I thought everything was perfect."
An occasional bullet hit the hull, with a sound like a hammer hitting an anvil through a pillow.
Mal frowned. "I wonder how long we can stay in here and just let them shoot at us."
"Until they realize that we’re just going to sit here, and go and get explosives."
"That sounds about right."
"Or, depending on who they are, they could just bring up artillery."
"You’re full of good cheer."
"Well, they aren’t asking us to surrender, so we don’t have to worry about whether they’re going to trick us."
"Now that’s a good cheery way to look at things, Zoë."
She squinted through the window. Was that . . . ? "I think they’re getting reinforced."
"Oh, that’s good. I’d hate to think we weren’t outnumbered."
"We wouldn’t want that, would we."
"If we knew where they were coming from, and who they were," said Mal, "we might be able to guess how soon they’ll be able to get explosives."
“Yes sir. And something else bothers me.”
“You mean, who it is trying to kill us?”
“Yes, sir. If it was Sakarya, he wouldn’t have paid us.”
“Yep.”
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"We could use a new plan."
"We could at that," he said.
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