My Own Kind of Freedom [Firefly] by Steven Brust (2007)

Posted on February 15th, 2008

Serenity: Dining room

He and Mal had the place to the themselves.

"Go ahead, Jayne. Sit down."

"I’d been about to, but thanks for the invite."

Jayne sat heavily.

"Okay," said Mal. "Let’s talk."

"Why are you worrying about me when you have a gorram fed ten feet away from loony girl?"

"Because the fed ain’t never been on my crew, Jayne."

"Yeah. What you want to talk about?"

"They offered you a deal?"

"Who, the Locals? Yeah, I told you. I didn’t take it."

"I’m still working on calculating why not."

A few lies went through his head, but there was Mal, looking at him, and . . . "I didn’t like how they asked me."

Mal nodded. "I don’t deny that you been useful to have around a time or two."

"Well damn, Mal. Them’s the nicest words you ever sent in my direction."

"Likely they are. But you been a lot of trouble to me and mine."

"What did you expect? You threw me off your gorram crew. You think maybe I’d run out and buy you flowers?"

"Always have liked chrysanthemums."

"Zoë tries to kill me, Mal, I’m gonna—"

"Zoë ain’t going to do more than I tell her to, Jayne, ‘less you put your foot bad wrong."

"That’s a comfort."

"We’re going into something, Jayne."

"Into what?"

"Settling some old business. Could use another gun in this. You can be back on if you want."

"Any money in it?"

"Not a credit, not a cent."

"Well, there’s a powerful inducement."

"There any inducement in this, you suss it out on your own."

"What about my ginseng?"

"You give it back. We live through this, we return it."

"It’s in a locker in town, along with all my gear."

"Maybe we’ll have the chance to retrieve it."

"What about that fed?"

"What about him?"

"He in this?"

"That’s up to him. He don’t take to us killing no one, and I intend some violence to take place."

"That’s why you want me back?"

"No, I want you back cuz someone might want violence to take place toward us."

"What if I say no?"

"We’ll try to get you somewhere safe, out of the area. No promises."

"Do I got some time to decide?"

"All the time you want till we start to move."

"When will that be?"

"About a minute. You’re asking a lot of questions, Jayne."

"Yeah, and you aren’t giving a lot of good answers."

"That mean you’re out?"

"Naw, when have I ever been able to stay out of a fight?"

"Whenever you couldn’t get anything out of it."

Couldn’t argue with that.

He remembered the cell, and remembered what he’d realized there: there wasn’t any point in fighting it, he just wasn’t any good on his own.

"Yeah. I’m in," he said.

Mal set the two pistols on the table, and slid them down to him, one at a time.

Serenity: Bridge

After a sleep that lasted around ten hours, he felt worlds better, and as ready as he ever would be.

He played around the upper edges of atmo for a few seconds, just to test how she was responding. He wasn’t entirely happy with the result, but—

"Can you do it?" asked Mal.

"Think so," he said. He badly wanted to add, "but I can’t think why we want to," but he bit his tongue and concentrated on flying.

The upper atmosphere of Hera smacked Serenity back and forth hard enough to penetrate the artificial gravity; he felt her bucking and kicking and wanting to put her nose down and tumble. The first chance he got, he leaned over and dialed down the cabin temperature, because he was sweating a lot. A fan kicked in, and a cool breeze struck his face, and it felt so good he almost smiled.

The atmosphere thickened, making the resistance stronger but less variable: a Firefly was not built for aerodynamics; she ought not to be subject to updrafts, and cross-winds, and buffeting. At least not this much.

He gave her an attitude adjustment just as she bucked the wrong way, and for a horrible second, Serenity almost flipped and tumbled, internal and external inertia wanting to combine to shoot her like a watermelon seed. A plastic pterodactyl and triceratops fell from his console and hit the floor.

He brought Serenity’s nose back up, too busy for the moment to curse.

The intercom crackled with Mal’s voice. "Wash! What the gorram hell is—"

He shut it off and fought the air, the ship, the world.

Mal had said, "Try to set us down east of Yuva, if you can find a clearing in the woods."

He had said, "Mal, if I can get us down in one piece it will be—No, I’m not looking for a clearing in the woods, I’m looking for the biggest flat empty space I can find, and then I’m praying like hell."

Mal had, for once, just accepted it.

Why were they doing this, anyway?

Because Mal was the captain, that’s why. And because, however stupid some of Mal’s stunts had been, somehow they had always pulled through, and kept flying.

He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, but, that was a clear space below them. Okay, time for the fun part. He flipped the two side thrusters into landing position and spun the engine faster, getting more thrust to fight gravity. The shake through the yoke rattled his entire body.

If I crack a tooth, I’m going to be annoyed.

He focused on a single point on the ground through the primary scope; the true-alt numbers falling much too fast. Still more thrust, still less control—and he almost forgot to lower the landing gear, which would have been an embarrassing way to wreck the ship.

Too much thrust to land; too little to fight the instability from the broken extender. At fifty meters: much too close to the ground to play, but still high enough to easily kill them all. At least the placement was good, and the angle was, had been good a second ago, was good again, but how did we get to one-fifty and, all right, she could yaw as much as she wanted to, but please don’t pitch down to seventy maybe just a bump careful careful too much and we’ll be on our belly and dead before you can say brontosaurus okay that one helped at the expense of fine, fine yaw can do what it wants until yes reduce that extra thrust so we come down to don’t roll! attitude good good just maybe if we swoop a bit we can get to the magic three meter mark and drop and just crack the landing gear which would okay stop that, nose is good again hold it hold it right there sweet baby please work with me one time one time and now nose down then up two meters? Cut cut cut! Nose up for the love of—

He clicked on the intercom.

"We’re down, fellow travelers. No sweat."

He leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes and if Mal had been on the bridge Wash would have punched him right in the mouth.

Chapter 13

My Own Kind of answers

Serenity: Passage

He walked with the captain, passing the glazed, exhausted, nearly stumbling pilot on their way to the bridge. The captain stopped as they passed. The pilot and the captain exchanged a few words, but he couldn’t quite make out what they were. Kit continued on to the bridge, where the captain joined him a moment later.

The captain gestured toward the comm gear and said, "I take it you know how to use this stuff?"

Kit bit back a sarcastic answer and just nodded.

"The Alliance gave you all the training," observed Reynolds.

Kit nodded and waited for the whatever point was coming.

"And so," continued the captain, "I guess that’s a good reason for you to sell your soul to them."

"Are you looking for an argument, captain?"

"More curious about why you’d do something like that."

"Would it mean anything to you if I said job satisfaction?"

"Might. But I have to wonder what sort of job satisfaction there is in—"

"Shutting down people like Sakarya?"

The captain shrugged and fell silent.

Kit set the right channel on the comm, set up what little masking signal was available on this gear. It took a couple of minutes to pick up the WHORU; he sent back the IM and appropriate codes. It took another couple of minutes to get full access, then he settled in to ask his questions. The captain sat next to him, saying not a word, making not a motion.

Kit made the first request, and waited. Into the silence he said, "There is one thing I’ve learned about Sakarya, and that’s that he’s good at what he does."

"How long you been on this?"

"Eight months."

"Don’t seem like so much."

"I also got enough facts and figures to indict."

"Well then—"

"Not enough to convict, though. Not reliably."

"My way is easier."

"Your way can be turned on you. Any time you piss off someone with the Alliance, we use your way, you could just be shot down. You like that idea?"

The captain didn’t answer.

"You got some indictments against you,” Kit continued, “but no convictions. You going to complain that we insist on evidence?"

The captain shrugged.

"But you missed the point about Sakarya being good at what he does," said Kit.

"Tell me."

"Part of being good at it is keeping careful records."

"The sort that could convict him?"

"Yep."

"So, how do you get them?"

"I’m working on that now."

As Kit worked, the captain said, "What I’m not sure of, is why you care."

"It’s what I do, go after the bad guys."

"Some might say we’re bad guys."

"You got no convictions on your record."

"No. But there’s talk we’re harbor—"

"You trying to talk me into arresting you, Captain Reynolds?"

"You wanted to do that, you would. I’m just satisfying some curiosity is all."

"So am I."

"About what?"

Kit checked the signal strength and started the next cross-load.

He looked up at the captain, and thought for a bit about how honest an answer to give. What the hell, he decided. "About why Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds, or Captain Malcolm Reynolds, who spends his time steering clear of the Alliance, and most of his energy keeping two badly wanted fugitives out of Alliance hands, went out of his way to save the life of a federal agent."

"Oh, that," said the captain.

"Yes."

"Was an accident. Didn’t know what you were."

"I figured out that part. It still doesn’t answer the question."

"Yes, it does."

"Then who did you think you were rescuing?"

"Didn’t know; I just didn’t like the look of those two guys who were sitting around waiting to do someone."

"But it wasn’t any of your—"

"They irritated me."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Okay," said Kit. "Maybe because you walked in there and figured what they were doing, and you couldn’t stand not to let them know how bad they were at it?”

The captain didn’t answer, which, Kit decided, almost certainly counted as an affirmative. He returned his attention to the next and last cross-load he needed.

"Okay, got it," he said a minute later.

"Oh, good," said the Captain. "Then our problems are solved."

Kit didn’t reply; he was thinking over what he’d learned, and trying to come up with a way to use it.

He was pretty sure there was one, and he didn’t much care for it.

Yuva: Sarkarya’s office

Annalee Wuhan had been his personal secretary for five years, which was more than three times longer than anyone else had survived on his staff. She was efficient, loyal, unambitious, keenly observant, and had no sense of humor. She also had a long list of irritating traits, headed by a refusal to call him anything but Filo, which was how she had first been introduced him, in a small schoolhouse where she had taught not twenty miles from this spot.

She walked into the room, and sat down without being asked; which was another of the irritating traits.

"Good morning, Filo," she said.

"Good morning, Miss Wuhan. What do we know?"

"There is strong reason to believe the agent es—"

"The traitor, Miss Wuhan. Let’s call things by their right name, shall we?"

"Certainly, Filo. The agent escaped with the fugitive from Serenity in—"

"What?"

"Serenity. The ship. The agent and the fugitive escaped in a short range shuttle last night, and it is all but certain that they are now back on Serenity."

"Serenity."

"Yes."

"And is—Serenity—gone?"

"As yet, we have been unable to confirm that. There has been no sign of a major thrust from that region escaping Hera, but they could, for one reason or another, have used low thrust, and we wouldn’t know."

"Or they could still be there."

"They could indeed."

"And the ship is certainly injured."

"A clean shot, but she was able to break atmo."

Sakarya sighed. "It doesn’t make sense."

"What doesn’t Filo?"

"We know about the traitor, and he knows we know. That removes his usefulness. Why would he stay? And why link up with—"

"We don’t know that they’re still here."

Interrupting him was another of her annoying traits.

"No, but we’re going to assume they are until we have proof they’ve left. And we do know that they’re all together. What could bring them together?"

"You could, Filo."

"Me?"

"They’d come together because they both hate you."

"They?

"I looked up the ship, Serenity."

"How did you learn the name?"

"Sir, you hired that ship."

"I hired it?"

"I hired it, in your name. To get the lumber for your son’s new Canteen."

"I see. Serenity. Interesting name."

"Filo, the name isn’t a coincidence."

"What—?"

"Here’s the file."

He took the e-paper from her hand, automatically reached up to forward tab to skip to the second page, where the guts of the information usually started, but he stopped himself. It was right there, on the title page. "Serenity," it said. "Firefly-class transport. Captain Malcolm Reynolds."

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Well," he said.

"Yes, Filo."

"Well, well, well."

"Yes, Filo."

"Bring me my new head of Security."

Serenity: Med bay

"I saw Jayne walking by with a gun—"

"He’s back on the crew," said the captain.

"Uh . . . okay."

"We’re going in. Stay with the ship, watch your sister, and be ready to patch us up when we get back."

"Aren’t I always?"

"You are at that."

"What’s the caper this time?"

"Caper?"

"Is that the wrong word?"

"Come to the dining room."

"Should I get River?"

"She’s already there."

Simon nodded and followed the captain up the stairs and then forward. Everyone else was there, including Jayne, and including someone he hadn’t seen before: a stocky man with a neatly trimmed beard and mild eyes; he reminded Simon of a biology professor he’d liked quite a bit. He was speaking to River, who was looking at him as if he were a laboratory specimen of something completely new in the ‘verse. He started toward her, but she looked up and caught his eye; she appeared to be all right.

There is such a thing as being over-protective, he reminded himself, and took a seat next to Kaylee, who gave him a smile that made his heart skip a beat. He looked at the captain, who was standing at the head of the table, looking like—

God! He reminds me of my father! No wonder I don’t trust him!

He missed the first few words the captain spoke; when he came back to the present, he heard, ". . . just to be clear, there’s no money involved. It’s something I gotta do."

Wash said, "Mal, is this—" then he broke off. Simon noticed Zoë’s hand on his arm. Wash and Zoë looked at each other, but Simon couldn’t read whatever might have passed between them.

Simon said, "Do we get to know anything about this, other than you might get us killed?"

"Sure, Doctor. Might get us caught by the Alliance, too."

As he said that, his eyes shifted to the stranger.

"Uh, not to be rude," said Simon, "but can you tell me—"

"Kit," said the captain. "His name is Kit."

"He’s a fed," said Zoë.

"But he’s on our side," said Jayne.

Simon’s mind reeled. "He’s a what ?"

River said, "Technically speaking, it isn’t treason if there are no violations of the law or explicit orders, or actions clearly contrary to the interest of the body to whom one owes loyalty."

"Thank you for that," said the captain.

"She’s right," said the one who’d just been identified as a fed.

"She often is," said Simon.

"Let’s focus on the job," said the captain.

"Good idea," said Simon. "Let’s just ignore that there is an Alliance agent sitting—"

"Yes," said the captain. "Let’s ignore that."

Simon said, "I don’t think—"

"Good. That’s how I like you best."

"Sir," said Zoë, "I think he deserves an explanation. It’s his sister—"

"It’s his sister," said the fed, "who I am pretending does not exist, as part of a bargain I made with the captain, and if any of you ever tell anyone I said so, I’ll make it my life’s work to hunt you down and make you regret being born."

Simon’s biology teacher had never sounded like that.

River said, "Technically speaking, it isn’t treason if there are—"

"It doesn’t have to be," said the fed.

"Let’s move on," said the captain. "I want to know if everyone is in."

"I’m always in," said Kaylee.

"I’m in," said Zoë.

"Already told you," said Jayne.

Wash said, "Can I just find out why —" then he looked at Zoë, shrugged, and said, "All right, I guess I’m being told I’m in."

"Good boy," said Zoë.

Simon felt the captain’s eyes on him. He hesitated, then said, "If someone comes in hurt, I’ll patch him up. Is there something else I’m supposed to do?"

"Yes. Tell me you’re with us."

"Does that have some practical effect I don’t understand?"

"No, I just want to hear it."

"Without letting me know what it is? What it’s about?"

"Sakarya is a bad guy, and we mean to take him down."

"Now we’re in the business of taking down bad guys?"

Kaylee said, "What’s wrong with that?"

"Well, for one thing, we’re criminals. Doesn’t that make us bad guys?"

"I expect it might," said Mal.

"But, what, he’s worse?"

"All kinds," said Mal.

Wash cleared his throat and glanced at Zoë. When she didn’t give him a sign, he said, "This has something to do with stuff I found on the Cortex, right? Forced indenture, child labo—"

"Yes," said Mal.

"I just want to say," said Simon, "that if you’re asking me to sign up for things, I’d rather be told what’s happening as it happens."

The captain said, "Doc—"

Simon looked at Kaylee, who was looking right back at him, her eyes very large.

"Okay, I’m in," he said.

The captain nodded. "All right. River?"

"River has never been out," she said.

Chapter 14

My Own Kind of Clever

Yuva: Sakarya’s office

It wasn’t over yet.

There was no way to know what was coming, how it was coming, or when, but it wasn’t over.

That had always been the problem with the gorram Alliance: they just couldn’t leave a man alone. And they kept coming. They’d found a way to put a man on the inside, but he’d been exposed, making him useless; so now they’d come up with a new way.

He turned around, facing out at his pond, and watched the ducks.

Now that was the question, really: why had they let their man blow his cover? The Alliance had never been sneaky: just big, clunky, big, determined, and big. It rolled over you, it didn’t try to outfox you. If they had pulled their man, it wasn’t a trick, it was because they needed him for something else.

Question one: What was the something else?

Question two: Did he actually need to know?

The ducks swam in single file, around and around the pond. Occasionally the mother would turn her head, and was maybe giving out an instructional quack. He should get some microphones installed out there, so he could hear them. Duck sounds would be pleasant, from time to time.

A direct attack?

Probably not; that isn’t how agents work. But then, there were things going on that he hadn’t figured out, yet. He needed to plant someone in with them so he could find out. He’d have done it long ago, if he’d had any idea they were interested in him. But that was for later; for now, he’d put his security forces on alert, just to be safe.

And that ship, Serenity. It was a wild card. Had they slipped off? No, he just didn’t think so. If they couldn’t be found in the sky, it was more likely they’d . . . .

Yes, gorram it. They’d landed. They’d come back. Not the Alliance, but Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds, that was what had been bothering him all day.

Yep. No doubt about it: he needed his security forces on high alert, and he needed to be hunting for that gorram ship. The only way to stop someone like Reynolds was to get to him first, and hit him hard.

He pushed a button on his desk, and began giving the necessary orders.

Serenity: Dining room

"Okay," he said. "Kit, let’s see those plans."

The fed nodded and unrolled a sheaf of paper on the table.

"Here are the entrances," he said, pointing to five spots, "plus ground floor windows here, here, here, here, and here."

"Where do we go in?" said Jayne.

"We don’t know yet, Jayne" said Mal. "That’s what we’re trying to figure out. You know, make a plan and all that."

Kit continued, "The perimeter guards are here and here, a pair each, and another two pair making a circuit, covering every point every two minutes. Any given spot might be out of sight of live guards for thirty seconds, max, though there are still cameras."

"Looked at where?"

"Guard station in the house, here, and also in the security office, though there’s a fair chance no one in the security office is bothering to look at them."

"Can’t count on that," said Mal. "Sakarya’s probably putting them on alert."

"Think he knows we’re coming?" said Kit.

"I’d count on it."

"All right."

"How are they armed?"

"The guards have rifles, sidearms, and shockrocks. The rest of the force on duty, about forty a shift, are quartered here, between the house and the security office. They can deploy and be anywhere in the house or on the grounds within about three minutes after the alert is given."

Wash said, "Are they Locals, or private security?"

"Both," said Mal and Kit at the same time.

"Forty," said Jayne.

Kit nodded.

"Let me think. Forty of them, four of us. That’s . . . uh, more of them."

"Can’t get one past you, Jayne," said Mal.

"So, we blow up the barracks?"

"Don’t think that’s like to happen," said Mal.

"Why not?"

Zoë said, "Jayne, we’re not going to blow up forty Locals. We’re not at war with the Locals. The Alliance won’t take to us blowing up forty Locals. They’ll notice. They’ll—"

"The Alliance? Now we’re worrying about the Alliance? If we were worried about the Alliance, why did we invite a gorram fed to this party?"

"In fact," said Kit, "it’s the gorram fed inviting you to his party, and he isn’t entirely sure why he’s doing it, but he promises you it’ll be a bad idea to blow up forty Locals."

Jayne said, "Not if we start out by blowing up the fed."

"Jayne," said Mal. "Your questions been answered."

"All right," said the big man. "So what do we do?"

"We could give up," said Wash. "Surrender. Throw ourselves on their mercy and beg forgiveness. Maybe if we sound really sincere—"

"How do they get word?" said Mal.

"Hmm?" said Kit.

"If the manor gives an alarm, how does the barracks get it?"

"Oh." Kit frowned. "I have the frequency, if you’re thinking we could jam it."

"Was thinking that. They have a backup system?"

"Don’t know."

"Could you jam it, Wash?"

"Yep. Course, someone figures it out, he could work around it."

"How long would that take?"

"Depends how good he is. Thirty seconds? Five minutes? An hour? There isn’t any way to know."

"All right. Let’s say we can keep them reinforcements out. We still need to get past the guards on the perimeter, and in the house."

Jayne said, "Can we, like, shoot somebody? Or we just going in waving our guns around hoping to scare ‘em to death?"

"Disarm them and immobilize them," said Mal. "Defend yourself if you have to. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I’d rather get past as many of ‘em as we can."

"You could take the shuttle," said Wash.

First Jayne, now Wash. Sometimes his crew could be really dense. "We’re going to take the shuttle, Wash," he said patiently. "The point is, how to find the right place to set it down, and then the right way in, and then how we—"

"No, I mean, you could take the shuttle all the way."

"I don’t get what—"

Wash stabbed at a place on the plan. "That’s the office, right?"

"Yes . . . ."

"So, take the shuttle right in."

"Wash, the windows are only—"

"Niao zai the windows. Look at the plans. The walls are eight centimeters thick where the studs are, and hollow everywhere else, and you said the place is built of cedar. I could land on top of his desk, if you can tell me where the desk is."

No one spoke for a long moment.

"You know," said Kit, "that’s not a half-bad idea."

"Wash, can you really bring us through a wall?" said Mal. "With you flying, there will be five in the shuttle. It’s going to be sluggish."

"He can do it," said Zoë before Wash could answer. Wash just nodded.

"How much weight will the floor take?"

"What does the shuttle weigh?"

"With five of us in it? About eight tons."

` “What about getting out again?” said Mal.

Wash shrugged. “Spin, go out the way we came. If the floor will hold.”

Kit frowned and looked over the plan some more. "Reinforced cedar. Eight tons distributed over . . .I think we’ll be all right."

"There’s something to be said for it," said Mal. "You can’t figure they’re looking for it. Kit?"

"I’m good with it."

"Jayne?"

"What, smashing through the wall of a guy’s house? What part of that could I not like?"

"Okay, sounds like a plan. Kit, what do you know about timing?"

"You mean, when are we likely to find him sitting at his desk?"

"Yes."

"He does most of his work early morning, or early afternoon."

"What is local time right now?"

"Almost eleven," said Kaylee.

Kit said, "I’ve got some numbers. Give me a few minutes to run them, and I’ll give you an ideal time."

"Good. Wash, can you show Kaylee how to jam that signal?"

"Easy. I can set it up so she just has to hit the power."

"Good, then. What else?"

"Sir," said Zoë. "What are we going to do when we get in there?"

Kill him, he thought. “We’ll see,” he said.

Serenity: Jayne’s quarters

He sat on his bunk, and was not entirely happy with the state of the ‘verse.

It was a hell of a time for Vera to be locked away in a gorram storage locker. And all of his other hardware with her. All he had were two pistols, one with three spare magazines, one with four. And with this sort of work, a rifle could make all the difference.

On the other hand, if they were all killed crashing through the wall, it wouldn’t matter what sort weapons he was carrying. That was comforting.

He stripped, cleaned, and re-assembled both weapons, enjoying going through the motions his hands knew so well.

That was comforting, too.

But if things went wrong—

No, that was stupid. Something like this, how could things not go wrong? The only questions were, how many things would go wrong, and which were they? And that sort of figuring, he knew, was not his particular skill.

He put the spare magazines for the Century Marauder VI in his right-hand coat pocket, and the ones for the Devtrex SI-4 in his left. Right Century, he repeated. Right Century. It’s the right century. Heh. That’s funny. The Marauder went into his belt, the SI into his left-hand pants pocket. He’d use the Marauder first, of course. They built a good weapon; you could drive nails with the butt, then drive more nails with the barrel, and you’d still have a weapon that would fire clean and hit what you aimed at. The Devtrex, well, it would fire most of the time, if it was kept clean.

Mal had a plan. The Fed had a plan, too. Okay, then. Fine. If they landed alive, and got out of the shuttle alive, he’d just start shooting, and stop when everything in sight was dead.

There, he thought. Now I have a plan, too.

Serenity: Shuttle one

It’s all in the details, he reminded himself.

He was looking over the shuttle, studying the position of the seats, and the distance from each to the door. There was the door control itself, and that’s where someone would be standing to operate it. Therefore—

Gorram it. There too many variables; too many unknowns; too many things that could go, if not wrong, then at least different. And that would be plenty to upset any plan he could come up with more general than, take any opportunity to make things work out right.

He checked his sidearm.

In the seven years since the end of the war, he had never fired a shot except at the range; had never come close to needing to. And now . . . .

He’d always thought of himself as a plodder.

There were field agents who could go into situations where there was liable to be shooting and stabbing and close escapes. And there were field agents who could appear at a crime scene and put together what had happened like rolling a vid. He had never thought of himself as either of those types: he went in, took as much time as was needed to establish a good cover, took as much time as needed to gather the evidence, assembled the information in neat, clear, and precise reports, and then, if necessary, testified in court.

You don’t fire up an ASREV to jump from the core to the border. You don’t pull the pin on a grenade to tap into someone’s Cortex transmission. You don’t use a tranq-gun to search a database for signs of tax fraud.

He was a tool of the Alliance, and he was fine with that; but he was the wrong tool for this job. Only, if he didn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done. And if it didn’t get done, he’d not only wasted eight months of his life, but he’d blown the first assignment he’d ever actually cared about.

Gorram those rutting bastards to hell. Why couldn’t they have just let him do his job, instead of bollixing the whole thing just to rip over some poor girl who had yet to be even suspected of a crime?

He couldn’t save her, of course. The Special Deputies were coming, and he knew something of how they worked. They didn’t get stopped. All he could do, as a salve for his conscience, was to try to complete his mission before they arrived. Once they were here, he wouldn’t be able to . . . .

Now there is an interesting thought. I wonder if that could work.

He looked around the shuttle again, and considered.

He took a close look at the comm equipment.

Yes, it just might work.

He left the shuttle and went off in search of River Tam. When he knocked on the door of her room, she said, "Come in, Agent Merlyn." The captain was right, she was a bit "creepifying."

He said, "River Tam . . . may I call you River?"

She nodded, watching him closely, as if he were a peculiar object; not something to fear, but something to study. He wasn’t entirely certain he liked it.

"I have a question for you. Do you already know, or shall I ask it?"

"Both," she said.

"You said they’d be showing up in the afternoon. Can you tell me more precisely—"

"They’ll hit lower atmo, near enough to pick up on Serenity’s gear, at 13:18 local time, which will put them seventeen point three minutes from nearest landfall."

"Thank you."

He stood up and got out, because, gorram it, she was creepifying. He went off to find the pilot. Then he had to talk to the captain, now that he knew what to tell him.

Serenity: Bridge

"And that," he said, "ought to be all you need. When it’s time, hit this. If that light goes green, it’s working."

"What if it doesn’t go green?" asked Kaylee

"Then it isn’t working."

"But what do I do?"

"Call me."

"You’re going to be able to tell me how to fix it while you’re in the middle of landing a shuttle through a wall inside a building?"

"No, but I’ll know to panic."

"Wash, are you worried?"

"Worried? No, not at all. So scared my sphincters have slammed shut, but not worried."

"Wash—"

"Kaylee, I know you want me to say something reassuring. And believe me, I’d love to. But this is the most insane thing we’ve ever done. And what with one thing and another, that bar has been set pretty high."

Kaylee sat down in the co-pilot’s seat, and turned away. Her shoulders shook.

"Kaylee—"

"I just don’t want you to die. All of you. And I don’t want you to die when I’m not there. What am I suppose to do if you all get killed in there? And what are you doing it for?"

"Why did you say you were in?"

"Because . . . I don’t know. I just did. I am. I’m not going to say I’m not in."

"Well, if things go bad, I’ll bet River could learn enough to fly Serenity out of here."

"Wash!"

"I know. That isn’t what you mean."

"You’ll be in touch, won’t you?"

"Of course I will."

"If things get bad, will you let me know?"

"Why?"

"Cuz."

"Kaylee, what are you going to do?"

"If you die, I can put River and Simon into the other shuttle and . . . what do you care, anyway? You’ll be dead."

Wash stared at her for a moment. He knew what she meant to do; the question was, how to talk her out of it?

"Actually," said someone whose voice he didn’t recognize at first, "I have an idea for something that would be much more useful, and leave you alive at the end of it. Maybe us, too."

Wash looked up and saw the Alliance agent, just entering the bridge.

"What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you. You’re Hoban Washburne, right?"

"Wash," he said. "And what were you looking for me for?"

"Like I said, I have an idea."

"I’ll have to ask the captain, whatever it is."

"How about if you listen first, and then decide what you want to do about it. And you—Kaywinnet Frye?" Kaylee nodded. "You listen too, because if it works, you’re going to have to do it."

Kaylee nodded again, and they listened.

Three minutes later, Wash looked at Kaylee. She looked back at him with an unusually serious expression; her eyes were just a little red, but they were dry.

"On the other hand," said Wash. "Maybe we don’t have to ask Mal after all."

Serenity: Bridge

"That sort of puts it on me, don’t it?"

"Well," said Wash. "In a manner of speaking, from a certain perspective, I suppose you could say that your rôle—"

"Yes," said Kit.

"I was getting there," said Wash.

"Can you do it?" asked Kit.

"Oh, easy."

Wash stared at her. "Kaylee, sometimes you . . . all right. I’ll set it up."

"And," said Kit, "I should get back to the shuttle."

"I’ll walk with you," said Kaylee.

She felt Wash’s puzzled look on her back, but didn’t want to take the time to explain. Besides, she had no idea what the explanation was.

When she hadn’t said anything by the time they passed the dining room, Kit said, "What’s on your mind?"

"Why do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Work for the Alliance."

"Oh. That. I thought you meant why do I betray them by not reporting that I know where a pair of badly wanted fugitives are."

"No. Well, that too."

"I think it’s a good idea that people like Sakarya be stopped. Don’t you?"

"Well, yes, but does that mean people like Simon and River have to be hunted down, when they never did anything?"

"Seems like it does."

"Well, that’s wrong!"

Kit didn’t say anything.

"You know it is," she continued. "That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? That’s why you’re doing this. Because you know what they’re doing is wrong."

Kit still didn’t say anything.

"You know, they grind people up. People like Simon and River, and people like you. That’s what they do. They grind people up."

"I know," said Kit.

Serenity: Dining room

The others had left to go about their business, except for Simon, who sat with her, but was lost in his own thoughts. She stared at the tabletop and waited for what had to be coming. It took several minutes.

"Couldn’t you have said something to stop them?"

She’d been expecting the question in some form, but the way it came out was, well, it added levels of complexity that she knew her brother couldn’t have considered. Stopped them? Who was them? What sort of "stopped" did he mean? Was he asking if they were programmed with safewords? Was he asking if they could be held motionless by her voice?

It took her some time to sort through the possible meanings to come up with the highest probability interpretation. And once she had, it only raised more questions: what was he actually afraid of? And, if he thought their intended activity was such a bad idea, why had he agreed to it?

Going past all of that, she pulled another meaning out: he trusted her, and wanted to be reassured that everything was going to be all right. He was frightened.

Well, but there were so many things to be frightened of.

There were men coming to get her, and they would be here very soon, and they were terrifying. And there were so many ways things could go wrong between what Mal wanted to do and what the agent wanted to do. And there were always the fluke occurrences that, in a plan as intricate as theirs, could so easily, at so many points, make it all go bad. There were missed shots and jammed weapons. There were sudden gusts of wind while the shuttle was up. The chance Serenity would be found too soon. And so much more.

By the time she could give her brother all the probabilities for all the mishaps, whatever was going to happen would have happened a long time before, at least for the most useful definition of "long time" in this context.

But he was her brother, and he was frightened, and he needed reassurance, and she didn’t want to lie to him. So, she determined which high probability event had the greatest chance of making what he feared come true, and she considered it carefully, and was pleased to be able to give her brother the answer he wanted.

"Don’t worry," she said. "Wash and the Alliance agent talked Kaylee out of crashing Serenity into the house."

It was strange, judging from the look on his face, how little that appeared to reassure him.

Chapter 15

My Own Kind of present

13:07

He ran through the preliminary checklist a second time before he started warming up the shuttle. He thought about running through it a third, but there was an old saying to the effect that you shouldn’t start getting paranoid when time was running out.

Actually, there wasn’t any such saying, but there should be. Wash decided that if he lived through this, he’d have to come up with one. Meanwhile, he started the warmup process, again checking each step carefully.

It wasn’t like this would be the trickiest flying he’d ever done. Quite. No reason to be nervous.

He felt an obscure disappointment when the warmup sequence was completed, because now he had nothing to do except wait until it was time to move.

Oh, right: one thing that was always necessary when you were unlucky enough to be going into mortal danger, but lucky enough to have advance warning.

He got back from the toilet and sat down again. This pilot’s chair was fine, but it didn’t feel the same as his. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Now, what? Was he really out of ways to kill time?

No, he could look over the plans again, and re-check the route, especially the final approach. He’d only been over it four times so far, and only once cross-checking it with the weather report.

He checked the time, and found that it was less than five minutes until launch. His palms were suddenly moist, and his mouth dry. That was all right, though; he’d be fine when it was time to launch.

13:15

The pilot was already in place, but no one else was, so he could choose his seat.

"Welcome aboard, welcome aboard," said the one called Wash, turning in his chair. "Passengers are advised to strap down for their own safety, and, as always, we remind you that Washburn Passenger Service is not responsible for lost luggage, air-sickness, or suddenly exploding into fiery ruin."

The first mate was in next; she kissed the pilot, squeezed his shoulder, and sat down next to him. The captain and the mercenary came in last; the captain took a position near the door.

"Is it time?" he asked.

"About a minute," said the pilot. "And, not to be painfully obvious, but you should all make sure you’re strapped in good." Then he stabbed a button. "Kaylee, open us up."

"Copy," came her voice.

A moment later, the pilot spoke again. "Kaylee?"

"Still here."

"Open us up, Kaylee."

"But . . . oh. That was the other one. There you go."

"Thank you, Kaylee."

"Good luck, all of you."

"Disengaging in three . . . two . . . one . . . free."

There was a mild jolt, a drop, and Kit was shoved back into his chair.

Okay, Kit, my boy. You’re in it now.

There was a faint whirring sound as the wings deployed, and they settled into the flight. He wiped his hands on his pants. The flight was scheduled to last just over twenty-six minutes. And end very abruptly.

He put his hand on the buckle that would release his restraints.

I’ll bet I’d have made a really good school teacher.

13:16

Serenity gave a little sigh and expressed a desire to list to starboard when the shuttle separated, but her gyros whirred, and she settled in. Kaylee sat in the pilot’s chair and watched the clock, as well as the screen that Wash had set up. It was seventeen minutes after thirteen hundred.

The screen was clear.

She tried to relax. It wasn’t easy up here on the bridge, in this chair, but she tried.

It was still seventeen minutes after.

The screen was still clear.

She noticed that her eyes hurt, and realized that it was because she hadn’t been letting herself blink. She blinked several times, rapidly, then, in sudden panic, looked at the screen. It was still clear.

And it was still seventeen minutes after.

A long, long time later it was eighteen minutes after.

And the screen was still clear.

She heard herself make a little mewing sound.

And the screen was still clear.

And then the screen wasn’t clear any more.

She heard a sound, midway between a sigh and a squeek, and realized it came from her.

Her hand was shaking as she reached for the green switch marked with the bright orange tape.

The "click" as she flipped it seemed very loud.

So was the next click as she started the timer for the jamming signal Wash had set up; a counter appeared in the upper right corner of the front screen. It started at nineteen minutes and began counting down.

Two lights far to the right turned green. In a moment, they were joined by a third one, flashing. Information began to fill the upper-most monitor, and then the blip on the screen she’d been watching moved across the top, stopped, and began to approach the center. Slowly, but still much too fast.

She remained in the pilot’s chair, shaking and waiting and trying to watch three screens at once, because a new blip was going to appear on one of them, and then she’d have to move quickly.

13:24

Miss Wuhan’s voice came over the intercom. "Filo."

He tore himself away from the projections he was trying to run. The worst thing that backstabbing fed had done, he’d been thinking, was deprive him of someone who knew how to do those. He’d have to hire someone soon; and this time do a thorough background check on the gorram bastard.

"What is it?"

"Serenity has been found, landed, about twenty miles out of town."

"Get me security."

"They’re waiting, Filo. I’ll switch you over now."

"Security here. This is—"

"You have a lock on Serenity?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good work. Send a Catfish. No messing around. Leave a crater there."

"Yes, sir. We’re on it."

He started to switch off, but suddenly, for no reason he was conscious of, he said, "Wait. How’d the break happen?"

"Sir?"

"How did you find her?"

"She started transmitting an ident beacon."

He looked out at his duck pond. An ident beacon? Suddenly started transmitting an ident beacon? Why in the gorram hell would they do that? "Hold a moment," he said.

"Yes, sir."

His mind worked quickly. "Okay, dispatch the Catfish, but scan them first. If there is no one aboard, then hold off on attacking and get hold of me. Repeat your orders."

The other did so, without flaw.

"Okay, move," said Sakarya.

He didn’t know what was happening, but he was pretty sure that whatever it was would happen soon.

He glanced at the clock: it was 13:28.

13:28

She felt the shuttle level out, and from what she could tell, they were about eighty or ninety meters off the deck. She wasn’t worried about it; if something was going to go wrong (and something was almost sure to go wrong) it wouldn’t be with the flying. She had seen the route they planned to take, curving around a twisting terrain to stay off radar, and she never for a moment doubted that, just about ten minutes from now, they’d arrive amid crashing and splintering of wood, and they’d arrive intact.

It was the part after that she worried about, and she worried about it on several levels. The Captain had something in mind. The fed had something in mind. And she had the uncomfortable feeling that her husband had something in mind, or, at least, that there was something he knew that he wasn’t talking about.

Yes, she was worried. But she was also very much aware that, at this moment, there was nothing she could do about that worry; nothing at all until the next stage of the operation began.

And when that happened, in addition to everything else, she intended to keep a close eye on that fed.

The shuttle made a soft, gentle turn and a smooth rise.

No, she didn’t know what was going on with her man, but he could certainly fly. Yes, indeed, he could fly.

She leaned over a little so she could read the clock around his left arm. It was 13:32.

13:32

He sat with his sister in the dining room, trying to be patient. It became harder after she suddenly said, "They’re here."

"Who?" he asked, not entirely sure he wanted an answer. Instead of answer, however, River stood up.

"Let’s go," she said.

"Where?"

Kaylee’s voice came over the intercom. "Simon! River! Into shuttle one, now!"

Simon stared at his sister for just a moment. She smiled back and led the way toward the shuttle.

Kaylee was already there. He said,"What are we—"

Kaylee started to answer, but River said, "Not now, Simon. There isn’t any time."

"All right," said Simon, wishing he had at least some vague idea of what was happening.

River at once sat down in the pilot’s seat. "Strap yourselves in," she said, as she went through the warm up sequence. "We’re off in five."

"Is that five minutes, or five seconds?" asked Simon.

"Boob," said River, and Simon felt like he’d been kicked as the shuttle leaped from its berth.

It was 13:36.

13:36

Analee patched security through without announcing it. "Sir, this is Unit One, and we’re at the site. Scan complete, no sign of life. Both shuttles have been launched."

"Hold your fire and check the area. Any sign of either shuttle?"

"Vapor signs consistent with short-range shuttles."

"Can you fix direction?"

"That’s affirmative, sir. Opposite directions, one directly toward town, the other directly away."

"Follow the one heading toward town. Overtake and destroy it."

"Yes—there’s a problem, sir."

Something inside him twisted and sank; he’d had that feeling before, and the memory came back strong. "There’s a problem," he’d been told, followed by word that the artillery support wasn’t coming through. "What is the problem, Unit One?"

"We’re being ordered to ground and be boarded."

Old habits came back, and heard himself sounding completely calm as he said, "Ordered by whom?"

"They identify themselves as Special Deputies of the Anglo Sino Alliance, sir. We’ve been given one minute to comply."

"What is the situation?"

"They’re in some sort of short-range vehicle.”

"Do you see any armament?"

"No, sir. Nothing visible."

"Anything else in the vicinity?"

There was a brief pause, then, "No, sir. Clear sky, no sign of anything on the ground."

"Unit One, attack. Blow them out of the sky."

"Yes, sir. Engaging."

He counted to ten, then said, “Report." A moment later, he said, "Unit One?"

He muttered a curse and said, "Security, are you still there? What are you picking up?"

Nothing.

"Security, report on the status of unit one."

After five seconds he let out a slow breath. "Okay," he said aloud. "This can’t be good."

The clock on his desk said 13:41.

13:39

River set the shuttle down, gently as a feather. As far as Simon could guess, they were a mile or two from Serenity.

"What’s happening?" he said.

River said, "They blew up the security ship that was sent to bomb us."

"They . . ." He looked at Kaylee, and discovered that he was holding her hand. He wasn’t sure when or how that had happened, but her hand felt cool and good in his. She was looking at him.

"I don’t know," she said. "I’m scared."

She needn’t have told him that last; he could see it. He tried to think of something to say to reassure her, but couldn’t think of anything that didn’t just sound stupid. He squeezed her hand.

"River," said Simon. "Who blew up what security ship?"

"Two by two, hands of blue."

"River—"

"But they aren’t coming for us. They’re flying away. We can go back to the ship now."

"Are you sure?"

River sent him a withering glance over her shoulder.

"I wish," said Simon, "that I had some idea—"

"It was his idea," said Kaylee, as she unstrapped herself, released his hand, and stood up. "The Alliance agent. And Wash’s. They worked it out together."

"Worked what out?"

Kaylee leaned over River and pressed a button on the console.

"What was that?" Simon heard an edge of panic in his voice.

"The recall," said Kaylee. "Now we can return to the ship."

"But—"

"Strap in," said River.

It was 13:42.

13:42

It was easier than it ought to have been.

The wind was pretty mild, and, as he began the final approach, almost directly in his teeth; and no one was shooting at him; and all the landmarks were clear and easy to follow. It was an awfully straightforward piece of flying for how scary it was.

He swung the shuttle around, nice and easy, holding at about three hundred feet, and got a visual on the house.

"I can’t believe I’m doing this," he said to no one in particular.

"What surprises me is that it was your idea," said Mal.

"Rub it in," muttered Wash.

The house, and then the spot on the wall; in his mind, he superimposed a big X on it, and aimed right for that spot. It was coming up on them fast.

"What’s that indicator mean?" said Mal suddenly.

“What indic—”

“The one’s that flashing.”

"Oh, that?" said Wash. "Nothing. The recall. It means that Kaylee, River, and Simon are returning to Serenity."

"Returning?" said Mal. "I don’t—what the gorram hell is going on?"

"I’ll explain later, said Wash. The house rushed up at him. "You know, this is mind-numbingly stupid," he remarked.

He killed the thrust, hit the airbreaks, and gave her a bit of the retros, then a lot more just as they hit the wall.

13:43

He had maybe two seconds of warning that something was going to happen, and none whatsoever of what it was.

Old, old reflexes were still operating, however, and he was out of his chair and rolling on the ground almost before the sound reached him, and well before he had time to figure out just what had happened.

A few splinters cut him here and there, but he didn’t notice.

When the noise stopped, he raised his head, and his first thought was that someone had fired a missile at him, and it hadn’t exploded. By the time he realized what it actually was, the door of the vessel was opening. He had, by this time, slipped so far into his old battle reflexes that he found his hand was reaching for a sidearm he hadn’t carried in seven years.

13:44

With some detached part of his mind, he realized that what he was experiencing was a lot like trying to stay on a badly spooked horse. With another small part, he put aside whatever it was that Wash had cooked up without telling him; there was just no time to worry about it now.

With the more important and less conscious part of his mind, he unsnapped his restraints and hit the button to open the door, and as the door swung open he saw that the fed was already past him and was out the door.

Guy moves fast.

He drew his weapon and followed the fed out into the shambles that had been—he hoped—Sakarya’s office, feeling Zoë and Jayne behind him. "Jayne," he said, "cover the door."

One thing he hadn’t anticipated was that it would be hard to see; but there was dust—sawdust, most likely—everywhere. It stung his eyes and nose. Goggles, dammit; I should have brought goggles.

After what seemed like a horribly long time, he focused on the tall man, just coming to his feet against the wall to his left. The man said, "Good afternoon, Sergeant Reynolds. You make quite an entry."

Mal swung his pistol to cover him. "Good afternoon, Colonel Bursa. You’re about to make quite an exit."

"Could be," said the ex-colonel, "but I’m not sure your team is in complete agreement about that."

Mal took a quick glance around the room. Jayne had his pistol pointing at the door. Zoë had her carbine pointing at the fed. The fed had his pistol pointing at Mal.

Oops, he thought.

Chapter 16

My Own Kind of Health

Sakarya’s office

Her reactions had been automatic. She saw a pistol leveled at the Captain, and she’d been prepared to cut down the fed; she stopped only when she realized that he wasn’t shooting.

She kept the weapon pointing at the fed and waited for the little twitch around his eyes that indicated he was about to pull the trigger, or for an order from the Captain; but as she did, it occurred to her with something of a shock that she very, very badly wanted to turn her carbine and put two rounds into Bursa’s chest. The desire came on so strong that, for a moment, her hands almost trembled.

But she didn’t do it, of course. She held her position and waited for orders, because that’s what she did.

Sakarya’s office

With the corner of his eye, he saw Wash leave the ship, look around, and then head for the door of the office. Before he got there it swung open and two men dressed in green coveralls and holding rifles came through. Mal kept his attention and his weapon on Bursa while Jayne fired twice. When the bodies hit the floor, Wash continued, stepping around them.

"Where are you going?" said Jayne.

"Out for a stroll," said Wash. "I won’t be a minute."

Then Jayne said, "Hey!" and swung his rifle to cover the fed.

"Stay on the door, Jayne," said Mal.

"We should probably talk," said Kit.

"Okay. But we’re all holding guns here, and someone’s arm is going to get tired soon, and we all know what that means."

"I’ll talk fast. I can’t let you kill this man."

"You know who he is?"

"I knew before you did."

"You know who he was?"

"Your old commanding officer when you fought for the Independents."

“He was more than that to me.”

“I figured. He was your hero, wasn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“No, you wouldn’t. But it was true. He mentored you, taught you about command, showed you—”

“Shut up.”

"And look at him now. He threw away his name, his rank, and his scruples. That must be feichang bu yukuai for you. It must feel like a betrayal of everything—”

“I said shut up.”

“All right. But you don’t get to commit murder."

Bursa/Sakarya stood there, hands clear of his body but not raised, and gave no indication that the conversation had anything to do with him, or even that he was listening to it.

"I’m not convinced you can stop me," said Mal.

Sakarya’s office

A somewhat elderly woman sat behind a desk, speaking into a microphone with a sense of urgency.

"Hi there," said Wash. "I need to borrow your processor for a moment. I promise I won’t hurt it."

"Who—?"

"Sorry, ma’am. I’m in kind of a hurry. And you’re not going to be able to reach your security people anyway. So, if you’ll just let me . . . ugh. Which one of these . . . ? Okay, that’s the direct link to the Cortex, so one of these must be, ah, I see. I don’t know if I have the right connection here. Okay, this ought to—there. Yes. A guy named Mister Universe showed me how to do this. Weird name, huh? Not half as weird as the guy is. We met in flight school. Worst pilot you ever . . . okay, that should do it. Just give me half a second to make sure the cross-load worked. Yep. Okay. You can have your desk again. Thanks."

Sakarya’s office

Kit really hoped the captain couldn’t tell how scared he was, or how bad he was at this whole pointing guns business. It’s funny, when they had tried to kill him in the canteen he hadn’t been scared at all; maybe he’d been too busy trying to work out what had happened. But now, when he had the gun, it was much worse.

Of course, that sawed-off carbine pointing straight at his chest might be part of the reason.

He said, "I don’t need to state the obvious, do I?"

The captain said, "You mean, the part about I shoot him, you shoot me, Zoë shoots you, and Jayne flies off into the sunset?"

"Something like that."

“Works for me,” said the mercenary without turning his head.

"No, you don’t need to point that out."

"So, tell me this: what do you think will do more good? Killing this guy, or making an example of him to everyone else on the border worlds who wants to try the same thing?"

"Couldn’t say," said the captain. "I don’t conjure with more good and less good, just with what’s in front of me."

"The Independents lost the war, Captain Reynolds."

"Yeah, I read that somewhere."

"Let suppose the cause was right. Then what?"

“You don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t. But suppose I’m wrong. Then what?”

"Then it’s a damn shame we lost."

"Just what I was thinking. Means some bad happened."

"I don’t think you’re making your point real well, Agent Merlyn."

"So, how about, if some bad happened, you let us do what good we can do, to sort of make up for some of it."

Wash came through the door.

"Wash!" said Jayne. "I almost put one through your gorram head!"

Wash ignored him, and spoke to Kit. "I got it," he said.

"Verify it."

"How?"

The captain said, "Wash—"

"One second, Mal."

Kit said, "Slide the little brown button on the back the other way, then hit start."

Wash said, "Two green lights."

Okay, here we go. It happens or it doesn’t.

Kit rotated his whole body until, weapon and all, he was facing Sakarya. He said, "Filo Bursa, alias Filo Sakarya, you are bound by law for violations of Alliance Labor Code section nineteen part three, forced indenture, and section seventeen part five, child labor, and additional charges to be determined by a duly authorized court."

Then he waited.

Sakarya’s office

He so badly wanted to pull the trigger; to watch Bursa fall to the ground twitching. To shoot him in the chest, so he’d just have enough to time to know he was dying.

But it wasn’t that gorram simple.

He’d never felt this way in a firefight.

Even as a young recruit, when he didn’t know how to handle himself, he’d done as well as could be expected: keeping his head down and shooting in the general direction of the enemy. But this was different. It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t obvious. There were too many answers, and all of them had some right and some wrong.

When the fed pointed his gun at Bursa, Zoë had immediately turned hers toward the door; now he heard the report of her carbine at the same time as Jayne’s pistol, and two more of Bursa’s security force fell in the doorway, next to their companions, one of whom was moaning and writhing, while the other wasn’t moving at all.

"Sir," said Zoë, without turning her head, "whatever you’re going to do, I’d suggest doing it soon."

"Real soon," said Wash, from directly behind him. "Someone’s gotten past the jamming.

Song yiqie dao ta ma de diyu.

In a firefight, he either knew the right thing to do, or he knew something to do that, at least, wasn’t wrong. The only thing worse than having to make this sort of decision was having to make this sort of decision in a hurry.

He looked over at the fed. "I don’t owe you a gorram thing," he said.

"I know."

"And I owe your Alliance even less."

"I know."

Mal lowered his pistol and heard himself saying, "Take him, then. He’s yours."

Sakarya’s office

A tension she didn’t know she was feeling drained out of her when the Captain spoke. She held her position and kept her focus on the door while she heard a clanking sound that had to be cuffs going around Colonel Bursa’s wrists. She held her position, waiting for the order to embark.

"Wash, how’s the shuttle?"

"It’s going to be fun getting it turned around in here, but everything works."

"You can fly us out?"

"Yes."

"With six of us aboard?"

She heard the hesitation, then, "I don’t—"

"Five," said the fed. "Take the prisoner. I’m staying here. I’ll come to collect him later."

"You know they’ll kill you," he heard the Captain saying.

"Oddly enough, they won’t. But I’d hurry if I were you. There are two Special Deputies on the way, and you’d much rather face down Sakarya’s security force than these two. Trust me on that."

"All of you, move," said the Captain. “Buttoned up and flying in thirty seconds."

She took a position next to Bursa, grabbed his arm, jabbed her sawed-off into his back, and guided him toward the shuttle. He seemed reluctant to move. She dropped the barrel of the weapon, prodded him again, and said, "Colonel, if you even hesitate," she said, "I’ll blow your balls off and we’ll drag you in. And you can’t know how much I want to blow your balls off."

They moved toward the shuttle.

Sakarya’s office

Rearguard again.

As he backed toward the shuttle, keeping his eye on the door, he saw the fed leaving, and felt a sudden temptation to put a round into him, just because he could. Then the fed was coming back through the door, faster then he’d left. After about five steps he stopped, turned, fired twice, then backed up and off to the side.

Crap.

Jayne moved forward and dropped to his belly, holding the Marauder with both hands.

"Jayne!" called Mal. "What are you doing?"

Now there was a good question. He’d just been thinking about plugging the gorram fed, just for fun, and now he was—

A whole bushelfull of them came through the door, several of them getting in each other’s way, a couple of them tripping. Not the best trained troops I’ve ever seen, he thought. Meanwhile, the little counter in the back of his head recorded that after firing six times, he had fourteen rounds left in the magazine. The captain was firing from behind him, and the agent from off to his right somewhere, though he wasn’t consciously aware of how he knew. Another voice joined the chorus; it had to be Zoë. He hoped that ruttin’ bastard in the shuttle was well secured, but it wasn’t his job to worry about that. He also made a mental note: I should really suggest to the Captain that we pick up some grenades.

He fired six more times, very fast, then the doorway was clear. Were they hanging back, waiting, or had they run? Only one way to find out. He stood up, then discovered he was on his stomach again.

What the–?

He tried to stand again, and failed.

Then hands grabbed him by the arms; Mal’s and Zoë’s, and dragged him toward the shuttle. The fed was looking at him, holding a smoking pistol, and then he was inside, and was being strapped into a chair.

"You can really get us out of here?" said Mal, which seemed very odd, because Jayne had never claimed to be a pilot, and he wasn’t even in the pilot’s chair.

"Watch me," said Wash. "How is Jayne?"

"One in the shoulder that went straight down, one in the left calf. I’m not sure how bad. Zoë took a scratch in the hand. That’s all. Now get us out of here."

"I’m on it."

There was a shiver as the shuttle started up.

How is Jayne? One in the shoulder? Hey, that’s my name. Was there another Jayne he didn’t know about? Be damned funny if one of those bastards he’d shot had the same name as him.

The shuttle rose about a foot off the floor and did a neat one hundred eighty degree turn in place. Jayne wanted to ask Wash not to do that, because the motion made him queasy; but it seemed like a lot of effort to talk.

Wash guided the shuttle neatly through the hole it had made coming in with a force that pushed Jayne into his chair. As the ship slowed for a turn, he felt himself moving forward. He reached out to hold the seat in front of him. For just a second, he felt a horrible pain in his back, then he didn’t.

Sakarya’s office

The Captain said, "Wash, what just happened?"

He turned his head just enough for them to hear him over the whine of the engine and the whir of the wings deploying. "I don’t know, exactly, except that I plugged a thing into a thing and pushed a button."

"You made an arrangement with the fed."

"Yeah, Mal. An arrangement to get us out of that place alive. It worked, too. Sorry if it hurt your feelings."

"You knew what was going to happen."

Wash made a minor course adjustment and gained a lot of altitude. "Can’t say as I did, actually. But I had a pretty good idea that if you went in and killed that guy, all sorts of things were going to happen, including the bunch of us probably getting shot."

"How? How did that—?"

"Mal, the fed was not going to let you shoot his prisoner."

"Your wife was going to shoot the fed if he’d tried."

"Yeah, Mal. And I wasn’t really happy with that idea. And you weren’t either."

"So you took it on yourself—"

"Yes, I did."

"Who else?"

"No one else."

"The fed has to have been part of it."

"Well, yeah, the fed. Mal, if you’re going to shoot me for it, would you please wait until I’m done flying this thing?"

Zoë felt the Captain’s eyes on her from the seat to her right, but she kept her own eyes staring straight ahead. "Zoë," he said. "I need to know where you stand. I can’t have—"

"Sir."

A pause. "Yes?"

"I wasn’t part of it. And I wouldn’t have gone for it. But while you’re thinking this over, there’s one thing for you to consider."

"And that is?"

"They’re right."

"They’re right to just decide—"

"That every once in a while you have to be saved from yourself? Yes, sir."

"And those Special Deputies he was talking about? Are they going to just fly away? You know they’re after the doctor and his sister, and you know they won’t stop until they find her."

"Yeah," said Wash as he leveled out the shuttle. "Well, I guess I should explain that part of it."

"I guess you should," said the Captain.

Zoë closed her eyes for a moment. It was starting to look like there was a horrid, ugly choice she wasn’t going to have to make. This time.

Serenity: Bridge

Wash’s voice came over the comm. "Kaylee, you there?"

"I’m here, Wash. How . . . how are you?"

"Mal is looking for someone to kill, and Jayne took a bad one, but everything is fine other than that. Have the doctor standing by. We’re coming in. Locking in three . . . two . . . one. . . locked."

She wanted to know if the Captain knew about her involvement, but she couldn’t think of any way to ask the question. She thought about getting up and going to meet them as they left the shuttle; she thought about going back to the engine room and waiting there. In the end, she just notified Simon that he had a patient, then sat in Wash’s chair and waited.

Sakarya’s office

The security forces had vanished, no doubt down the stairs. He felt rather like patting himself on the back; four of them had held off more than thirty, and even made them run. But in all conscience he couldn’t, because he knew they had the superior position, and he knew just who joined those security forces and what sort of training they had never received, and because now he had to deal with Miss Wuhan.

Miss Wuhan was staring at him. "You!" she finally managed. "He trusted you, and you betrayed—"

"Miss Wuhan, you have three choices. You can be bound by law, you can force me to shoot you, or you can walk out of here right now. I’d prefer you didn’t take the second option; I don’t much care about the other two."

"You’re a federal agent."

"That’s right."

"What you did was illegal."

"In fact it wasn’t. I got the evidence to convict, and I can show probable cause. Of course, if I’d failed to get the evidence, you might say I’d have been breathing metaphorical vacuum. But I got it, so all is well and happy. Now, do you want to go down with him, or go down for good, or go away?"

"The security forces will be back soon. They’ll kill you before you can—"

"Not before I shoot you if you’re still here when they arrive. I’m not big on shooting little old ladies, but I will. Trust me."

The little old lady hesitated, then without another word headed out the door.

He sat in the chair and waited.

Security forces? She had no idea what the real danger was. To hell with the gorram security forces, there wouldn’t be more than thirty of them. But there were two Special Deputies coming; that was the real problem.

He heard a faint scuffling and raised voices coming from some distance away, no doubt down the stairs. He leaned back in the chair, and took a couple of deep breaths. He kept his pistol in his hand, out of sight beneath the desk.

There were two of them, as expected; except for odd, skin-tight blue gloves, they were dressed simply, much like he was; they could have worked in the office with him and would have fit in nicely.

"Good day, gentlemen," he said, before they could speak. "I’m Kit Merlyn, Anglo Sino Alliance Security, Investigations Department, Identification number six three dash four one seven, reporting to Commissioner Gerald White. I’m not expecting you to identify yourselves; I know who you are and why you’re here."

He felt himself come under intent scrutiny. The other, shorter one, spoke in a pleasant, almost melodic voice: "Agent Merlyn, why do you have a weapon concealed under that desk?"

He’d been expecting that question. "Because I know how you gentlemen work, and I have no intention of letting you kill me if I can prevent it. I have a man to prosecute, and—"

"You think we’d kill one of our own with no reason?"

"No, you’d need a reason, but I have no idea what you might decide is a reason, so I’m playing it safe."

"Very well," said the thinner one. "Then where are they?"

"Simon and River Tam left the world twenty-four hours ago in a Firefly class transport. They made a rendezvous in close orbit with an as yet unidentified Seagull-class transport, transfered to her, and left the world. The Firefly, Serenity, landed back here. I temporarily commandeered and searched her in order to complete my own mission. I’ll be filing a full report—"

"Did you speak with the Tams?"

"I had no contact with them at any time, only with a crew member of Serenity who intended to give them up."

"That would a Mister Jayne Cobb?" said the other.

"That is correct, yes."

"And where is he?"

"To the best of my knowledge and belief, he is a fugitive somewhere in the world, having escaped the local lockup."

"How did he escape?" said the shorter of the two.

"He had help. I don’t know more that that; it doesn’t fall within the purview of my investigation."

They looked at each other. "We aren’t going to kill you," said the thinner one.

"Then I’ll be equally polite," said Kit.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?"

"The Seagull was on a heading for New Hall. They have a day’s start, but they aren’t fast."

“You could have reported that yesterday.”

“Not my job,” said Kit.

The thinner one nodded. "When you make your final report, see to it a copy comes to Special Operations. Mark it ‘Attention Headwater.’"

"All right."

The two of them nodded and walked out of the room, and Kit started breathing again. However he didn’t move for a good five minutes, just in case. But they were well and truly gone, the only thing left would be carnage downstairs. He wished there were a way to walk past it without seeing it. For one thing, he didn’t relish deciding if he were obligated to put it in his report.

He used the comm equipment at the desk to arrange for transport.

Serenity: Med bay

"Sit over there," he told Zoë. "I’ll get to you in a minute."

"I’m fine," she said, but he barely heard her; he was already concentrating on Jayne, who lay on the table, face down and sleeping; the bleeding had stopped for the moment.

Simon prepared his tools, then made his first examination. Pulse all right, blood pressure good—and there it was: he could see the exit wound in the trapezius. He studied the entry point, looked at the angle, and decided the bullet hadn’t done any bouncing around, which was good.

"I think he’ll be fine," he said aloud.

"You going to fix him, doctor?" asked Mal.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Simon might have replied, but he was too busy, and the question was too stupid to deserve an answer anyway.

Chapter 17

My Own Kind of Truth

Serenity: Med Bay

In a moment of relative lucidity, he realized he’d been shot again. That he was back in Serenity’s med bay again. He tried to put together the events of the last few hours, days, but he couldn’t make things fit, and it was too much effort to try. Shortly after that, things went fuzzy again.

Some indeterminate time later, he saw the doctor’s face peering at him. He tried to ask if he was going to live, but he couldn’t make his mouth work right. “You’re back on Serenity,” said the doctor, as if that had been his question.

“Where else would I be,” he tried to say, but it wouldn’t come our right. Not that it mattered.

Serenity: Engine Room

Zoë’s voice came through the speaker. “Captain wants everyone in the dining room.

Kaylee, leaning against the port battery casing, stared at the box. It was a technology that hadn’t changed in hundreds of years: a thin membrane set to vibrating by the motion of electrons through insulated wires. Power requirements: almost nil. Control. It was all about control, about fine tuning, about precision. It was the same sort of precision control, in a different way, that let Wash do what he did. And the Captain do what he did.

Big things, turned into small things, then moved and turned back into big things.

She stared at the speaker.

“Kaylee?”

“I’ll be there,” she said. Her voice sounded odd in her ears.

The speaker went dead. “I have to be there,” she told the empty engine room. “It’s my job to keep Serenity running.”

Serenity: River’s Room

Sometimes it seemed it was just a matter of keeping her balance. Too far in one direction and she would see anything; would just sit there for the rest of her life like the cat-tails in a still-life. Too far in another direction, and it would all rush in on her at once so that she would burst and become nother. Too far in another direction, and she would become non-existant. Too far in another direction, and they would find her and take her back. Too far in another direction . . . .

The problem was there were too many directions, and you had to stay balanced among all of them. It was like dance; if you could find the balance point, you could do anything.

That was the beauty of flying. She would have to ask Wash he how did it, how he made it like a dance. The way Kaylee made Serenity dance. The way Simon danced with his hands, when he was operating. The way Mal danced between disaster and triumph. The way Zoe danced around between Mal’s orders and Mal’s wishes. The way Jayne…

Jayne.

Jayne was the only one who didn’t dance.

He had no balance. That’s why he did all of those things, he couldn’t find his balance point.

She got up, then, and walked to the Med Bay. Simon looked up and said, “What is it, River?” but she ignored him. She went over to Jayne, who had was looking upward with fractured shards of consciousness coming and going like his breath; wrung out, shot full of drugs and holes with his life flowing through tubes and his spirit spreading through the ship like the ghost locked up in the hold.

She stared down into Jayne’s half-open eyes. “Boxing is just like ballet,” she told him, “except there’s no music and they hit each other.”

Then, satisfied, she turned and went back to her room.

Serenity: Cargo Bay

She walked away from the speaker and took another glance at Sakarya. He was well secured to the stairway with steel cuffs. There was nothing within nine feet of him. He looked back at her; his eyes were dead things.

“Food, water, and toilet break in an hour,” she told him. Then she turned back to the speaker, punched a button and said, “Wash, surveillance check.”

“We’re good,” he said. “Dining room?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I’ll be there as soon as I’m sure nothing is coming to eat us.”

She looked at the prisoner again, wondering why she didn’t hate him; wondering if there was something that had died, somewhere along the road.

Someone said, “So, did you think it was good operation?” Zoë recognized her own voice, and wished to tell she could take the words back.

“Quite professional,” he said. “Do you actually care what I think?”

“Evidently.”

He nodded a little. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, I mean, why was it important to ruin me?”

“We were much too late for that, Colonel.”

“Glad to have given you the opening for the line, but you know it doesn’t answer the question.”

“Yes it does,” she said, and turned and headed up the stairway, hearing her boots clank loudly in the wide, empty space of the hold.

Serenity: River’s Room

“River,” he told his sister patiently, “we need to get to the dining room.” He wanted to ask her what she had meant when she spoke to Jayne, but he was afraid she might tell him.

“It’s not that far,” she said reassuringly, but made no move to get up from her bed.

“Mal is expecting us to be there.”

She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “Yes. He’s going to ask questions, and he’ll want answers, only the answers he wants won’t be there.”

After some hesitation, he asked it. “Where will they be?”

“In the cargo hold,” she said, as if it should have been obvious. “Where the ghost is.”

Simon made a few connections in his head, put a few things together, and nodded slowly. “You see, River, we can’t always tell when you’re speaking in metaphors, and when you’re being literal. That makes it hard–”

“What makes you think I can tell?” She sounded genuinely curious.

“To use a metaphor, or a simile, requires activating a part of the brain that . . . “ he trailed off. “It isn’t that you can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy, it’s that you can’t express the difference. The language centers . . . I might have something.”

“But what about seeing the future?”

He frowned. “You see the future?”

“I see my future. I see more tests.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“What else can I do?”

“You want me to remember.”

He nodded.

“I don’t want to remember.”

“I know. But . . .” he looked for the words. “I think you’re in a state of lucid dreaming, while you’re awake.”

She was quiet for what seemed like a long time, then she turned her deep eyes on him and said, “But how can you do anything about it?”

“I’m a trauma specialist,” he said. “Come on, let’s go to the dining room.”

Serenity: Bridge

He felt a hand on his shoulder and knew it without turning around; had known when he heard the footsteps.

“Everything is all right?” he asked, and felt her hesitation.

“Did you hear from the feds?”

“Agent Merlyn said he’d be showing up sometime in the next hour.”

“Good.”

She stood there behind him, just touching him.

“Sweetiekins, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how this is going to come out.”

“You mean, Mal?”

“What we did–”

“What I did, you mean.”

“The Captain won’t like it.”

“Then we’ll have to stage a mutiny.”

“Wash, that’s not funny. That’s almost what we did.”

He stared out at the light blue cloudless sky of Hera.

“Did you see another choice?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Why not? It’s what you’ve been doing for the last six years. And Mal too. When you don’t have any choice, you do what you have to.”

Her hand still rested on his shoulder.

“Then what?” she said softly. “What happens after that, Wash?”

He locked on the autopilot and stood up. “Maybe I can find a job performing with finger-puppets.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “And what would I do?”

“Cook my dinner and rub my tired fingers. Ouch.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Some things, you and I just ain’t cut out for.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“The Captain–”

“This is our home. He knows that. And it’s his home because we’re here, and he knows that too.”

“If he gets pushed too far–”

“You know, for someone who’s known Mal longer than any of the rest of us, you don’t have a lot of faith in him. Come on, let’s not keep them waiting.”

Serenity: Dining room

They were sitting around the table. On his left was Kaylee, looking at the table on front of her; then Simon, looking at Kaylee; then River, looking at nothing; then Wash and Zoë, who were involved in some sort of whispered conversation.

"All right," he said, looking at each of them one at a time. "I got a bit of mad I ain’t used up yet, so now’s the time. Wash, maybe you can start by telling me how it happened that you concocted a plan with the fed behind my back. I’d expect that from Jayne, not from you."

Wash looked down at the table.

"Not good enough, Wash. I need an answer."

Still nothing.

He felt the knot of anger in his belly; he noticed his right hand, sitting on the table, was starting to shake. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like Wash to do something like that; not, at any rate, unless it involved protecting Zoë, or—

"Kaylee," he stated.

She looked up. "Yes, Cap’n?" There was a tremor in her voice.

"You got something to add to this?"

Her mouth opened and closed, and she glanced at Wash, as if for support. She got it, too. "Mal," said Wash. "She was going to crash Serenity into the house."

He looked at Wash, who was now staring back, and then at Kaylee, who had returned to studying the table-top. "Huh? Why?"

"Because," said Wash, "she thought we were all going to die."

"We weren’t going to die."

"Yes you were," said River. "You were going to kill the ghost, and then the wizard was going to kill you, and then Zoë was going to kill the agent, and then the security forces—"

"You weren’t even there!" said Mal.

He suddenly felt everyone looking at him.

"Which," he continued less forcefully, "doesn’t mean you’re wrong."

"Sir," said Zoë, "you’ve been off your game. We’ve been covering for you. Sorry, but that’s how it is."

"How long as this been going on?"

No one spoke for what seemed a long time, then Kaylee said, "Since Inara left," and it was his turn to have nothing to say.

She wasn’t even there, and she was still complicating things. His anger flared, and he badly wanted to find something to throw or someone to hit.

"You can’t blame her.”

An acidic response came to his lips, then he realized that no one had said anything; the voice had been in his head. Great. Now I’m hearing voices.

He said, "This can’t work if my crew feels they can just concoct their own plan whenever they conjure I’m not working right. Noble thought, maybe, but it can’t work that way."

Zoë said, "Then what do you want us to do, sir? If Wash hadn’t acted, we’d all be dead now."

"With all respect to little miss Delphi here, you can’t know that."

This time, the silence was eloquent, and lasted longer, until Zoë said, "Sir, what do you want us to do?"

"Times like this," said Mal, "I always ask myself, ‘what would Jayne do?’" He looked around. "Not, you understand, that I’d do it; I just ask myself."

He didn’t even get a courtesy laugh.

"All right, all of you seem to think I’m in a twist over Inara, but—"

"I don’t," said River.

Now all eyes were on her.

"All right," said Mal. "And what does the Oracle think?"

"You just needed to lay a ghost to rest."

"Ghost?"

"The ghost you have chained up. Ghosts usually walk around with chains. It’s traditional."

"I don’t—"

"Now you’re done with the ghost, so it’s all fine."

"You think so?"

River nodded. "Now you can make yourself miserable over Inara."

"Doctor," said Mal, "is your sister a shrink as well as, uh, whatever else she is?"

"Captain," said the doctor, "I give you my word I have no idea all the things my sister might be."

Whatever Mal might have come up with to say to that was interrupted by the double buzz of the proximity indicator.

"I’ll go check on that," said Wash, sounding relieved. He headed up to the bridge.

Everyone except River was now staring at the table top; she was looking right at Mal. After a very long and uncomfortable two minutes, Wash’s voice came over the intercom. "Mal, the fed is here and wants to come in."

"Why the hell not?" he said under his breath. Then he stood up, punched the intercom button, and said, "Okay, Wash. Let him in."

They all got up and headed for the cargo bay. Zoë reached the button first, and opened the airlock, let down the ramp. Wash joined them.

Kit came in, holding a pair of large duffel bags. He set them down. "I opened the lockers, gathering evidence. This is your man’s stuff. He’ll want it back, if he lives."

"He’ll live," said Mal.

Kit nodded. "I wouldn’t stay here long, if I were you. The Special Deputies are eventually going to figure out you aren’t where I said you were, and they’ll come back this way first to pick up your trail."

"That going to make it hot for you?" asked Mal.

"Hard to say. I can cover a trail pretty good. I might get away with it. And I completed my assignment; that should count for something. Speaking of, may I have my prisoner?"

"Zoë will fetch him for you."

"Has he said anything?"

"I haven’t asked him anything. Didn’t trust myself."

Kit nodded. "I should be moving too. I have reports to file, a prosecution to arrange, and maybe even a job to keep, if I’m lucky."

"If you call that a job."

"I do."

"Zoë," said Mal, shrugging. "Go fetch the prisoner. Kaylee and Wash, get the boat warmed up; I want to be off the world in five minutes."

"Cap’n," said Kaylee, "she’s still pretty hurt. Guidance is bad, we got a big hole—"

"Can we make it to a repair station?"

There was a pause, then, "I think so."

"Then we move. A repair station, then back to Paquin."

"Paquin, sir?" said Zoë.

"Got some ginseng to return," he said, prodding Jayne’s bags with his toe.

"Yes, sir," said Zoë and went off to fetch Bursa-Sakarya. Wash went back to the bridge, Kaylee to the engine room.

The doctor said, "I’ll go see to it Jayne is secured," and headed toward the med bay.

"Don’t worry," said River. "She’ll be back," and turned to follow her brother, leaving Mal alone with the fed.

"Must be hard," said Kit. "He used to be one of the good guys, which makes it much worse. I’m impressed you didn’t kill him."

"I’m just proud as a papa of that."

"And," continued the fed, "here I am, and I used to be one of the bad guys."

"Still are, in my book."

"Is that right? Let me ask you something, Captain Reynolds. During the first two years of the war, ninety-five percent of the Alliance forces were volunteers. After that, they still made up the heart of the army. What do you suppose made them volunteer?"

"Couldn’t say."

"You don’t think maybe they believed in what they were fighting for?"

"Maybe so. Folk been wrong about things before, believed it was okay to tell other folk how to live. Nothing new there."

"And maybe they thought it would be a good idea to stop the Sakaryas in the ‘verse. And maybe they were right."

"You worry about right, Agent Merlyn, and keep fixing the ‘verse. I got to fix my boat."

"Good luck with that," he said.

Zoë showed up then, one arm on the shackled prisoner. Mal looked him in the eye. "Got anything to say, Colonel?"

Bursa met his eye. "It’s what happens when you lose everything," he said.

"Not always," said Mal. "Sometimes you find a new thing."

The fed took hold of the prisoner, and led him down the ramp. Mal walked over and punched the button; the ramp raised, and the world of Hera vanished from sight. As the airlock closed, Wash’s voice came over the speaker: "Strap in, everyone. We’re off the ground in two minutes, and we’re still in rough shape.”

“It could be bumpy," said Zoë.

Mal looked at her. She looked back at him. "Just trying to save you the trouble, sir; you must be tired of saying that."

They walked back toward the heart of Serenity.

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