The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Seventy-One

IMPERIAL GUARD -23:04

“Your Highness!” the eager young scout said, snapping to attention. Johnny still cringed internally every time he heard the word. It was a constant reminder of the enormous scam he was perpetrating, a scam he wasn’t sure he could either pull off, or safely escape the consequences of. But he played his part like a professional. His face did not twitch when he turned to face the young man. “Report, Private,” he commanded. “Signs of activity ahead, Your Highness—” “Private, when we are in the field, you may refer to me simply as ‘Sir’.” “Yes, Sir! There is definitely a moderately large body ahead of us, likely armed. We heard sounds, spoke mostly in Mandarin.” “Tigers, then, most likely,” agreed Johnny, doing his best to look sage. “My men mostly spoke in English.” That was both out of deference for their Anglic hosts on Serenity – though most spoke quite passable Chinese – and because English was better suited for technical talk. “What’s the terrain look like ahead?” “There’s a wide corridor directly ahead, thirty feet by a hundred and twenty. The vault area. There’s a cargo lift at the far end, and a small office, but the rest of the doors are dead ends.” Johnny looked behind him over the broad shoulders of his bodyguards at the long line of eager Imperial Guards that stretched down the corridor behind them. “It sounds like a good place to deploy our superior num—did you say ‘vault area’?” he asked, quickly turning around. “Yes, Your—Sir. The Sun Tzu carries a considerable stock of specie and other valuables. Platinum, Gold, Silver, Heavier metals, trans-nuclear derivative stock, gems, jewelry, art treasures – there’s even a room crammed full of amber. I was on guard there once,” he grinned. Johnny’s eyes grew wide. There it was – the treasure he had dreamt of since he had heard of it. A fortune of fortunes. Platinum – amber! Amber was more rare than all the rest put together. The others could be harvested, mined, on humanity’s new homes. But all the amber in the ‘verse was created on Earth-That-Was – and there would never be any more. It took pine pitch and a few thousand years to create it and no world spinning was more than four centuries old. That was why the Throne of Yuan was called the Amber Phoenix throne, because it was made of pure amber (“donated” to the government of Great China by its Russian possession, St. Petersburg, just before WWIII) and because the Phoenix represented the rise of Yuan from the ashes of China. Ounce for ounce it was one of the most expensive materials in the ‘verse. A single stone was worth tens of thousands of credits. “And . . . these chambers . . . remain full?” he asked, hesitantly. “Sir, the seals on them did not seem to be disturbed, though I did not have time to examine them closely.” “Sergeant Mao!” Johnny bellowed. Almost instantly, a grizzled old non-com who persisted in looking scruffy despite the clean new uniform, approached. “Sir?” “Sergeant, take twenty of your fastest men and rapidly advance to the vault area. Secure that area and await our arrival. This man will guide you. You may return fire if engaged, but hold that area!” “Yes, Your Highness!” the sergeant nodded – not quite a bow or a salute. “Vanguard squad, Crane Squad, you’re with me! Run!” Within seconds the men were gone, only the echo of their boots remaining. Johnny could barely breathe. It was real. The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu – not the ship, or the men, or the guns – the very cashy portable wealth, it was real! And it sounded like its actual size dwarfed his wildest imagination! If he could just get away with a little bit of it – he’d prefer a lot, but a little would do – so he and Nyan Nyan could start a new life somewhere, maybe Greenleaf or Silverhold, he’d have fulfilled his every dream. If he got away with more . . . well, he always wanted to know what the life of a gentleman of leisure was like, having stared at enough of them on Epiphany growing up. He might could give extreme wealth a try for a while. In that case, screw Silverhold – he’d get a flying castle on Bellarophon. By the time he and the rest of the column met back up with the grizzled Sergeant, his grin had faded. The men had established a line of fire across the width of the corridor, and hugged the walls, weapons drawn and ready. But they were at the near end of the passage. The far end was held by a dozen or so men in long white coats, likewise aiming weapons back at them. In the middle was a single bareheaded officer, his rifle extended with a white cloth on the end. “Ta ma deh!” Johnny swore. “Where the hell did they come from?” “You did expect to encounter resistance, didn’t you Sir?” asked the sergeant. “I didn’t expect them to make such good time,” Johnny admitted. “Nor did I expect them to surrender.” “They haven’t surrendered, Sir,” the sergeant pointed out. “They just want to parley. Should we respect it, or should we send them all to hell on a carpet of lead and lasers?” “Let’s . . . let’s hear them out. But I want every man here to have his finger on the trigger, safety off. I trust they are well trained enough to avoid an accidental discharge, while I speak to them. You are certain that they haven’t . . . advanced and trapped the area?” “Nossir, they came in the same time we did. Odd little dance that was. But then that fellow there starts waving a flag, and I agreed not to fire until you came.” “Private,” he said, indicating the scout he’d spoken to before. “Affix a flag of truce, advance, find out his terms, and return. We’ll cover you.” “Yes, Sir!” As the young man began stripping his gear, looking for something to pass as a truce symbol, the other Guardsmen were filling up the corridor, taking positions with their weapons ready. With a swallow the young man found an emergency sling and tied it to his bayonet and strode out to meet the foe. Two minutes later he returned. “He’s a major, commander of the Tigers. Says that he will only speak to Lei Chin Yi. He did allow that you may keep your bodyguards with you, provided their arms are held at port, safeties on.” “Agreed,” Johnny said with a sigh. “Sergeant, if I stamp my left heel twice, I want your snipers to remove the Major and anyone else they have a chance to. Understood?” “What makes you think I got snipers?” he asked in a thick Wuhan accent. “You’re a sergeant in the Imperial Guard. Of course you have snipers.” The man grinned. “I think I’m starting to like you, Sir.” Johnny went forth with his bodyguards and met the Major about midway down the corridor. The man smiled serenely as he loosely held the flag. Johnny was put on guard. There was something familiar about that face . . . “Would you like to discuss further terms?” Johnny asked. “No, I wouldn’t. Or at least not yet. I wanted to chat a moment.” “If it’s about the weather, we can skip it. More of the same, I hear. What do you want?” “I was sent by my Master to return you to him.” “I don’t belong to him. And I am suspect of his motives. Needless to say, I have an issue with that plan.” “I thought you might. When the order was given,” he said, quietly, nodding to the rapidly filling wall of Guardsmen that were taking positions behind Johnny’s bodyguards, “I was led to believe you’d have a much more reasonable escort – if one at all.” Johnny shrugged. “I’m a popular guy. Make friends easily.” “So I see. How do we want to do this, then?” “Well, I have you hopelessly outnumbered, outgunned, and outclassed. We could do the ‘die to the last man’ thing if you want, but I find that an unpleasant prospect.” “I concur. My men wouldn’t hesitate, either, especially against the Guards. It goes without saying that they would rather die than lay down arms.” “I can promise them amnesty,” Johnny countered. “That’s right, they think you’re a Prince, now, not a criminal,” the Major said, amused. “I didn’t say it would be a very good amnesty,” Johnny admitted. “But I could keep them alive, probably.” “It matters not: there is no amnesty from Shan Yu.” “Still, a slaughter . . .” “I said that I agreed. I think I have a way.” “I am anxious to hear it.” “A surrogate combat? For honor?” “Hand-to-hand?” Johnny asked, intrigued. “It would fulfill the requirements. Honor satisfied, the decision the province of the gods . . . my men would accept the result.” “As would mine,” agreed Johnny, nodding. “I propose our champion against any champion of the Guard. Loser quits the field. Winner allows them to leave unmolested.” “Doesn’t seem like a lot in it for us,” Johnny pointed out, reluctantly. “Don’t be foolish: these two units hate each other passionately. They’d be satisfied with the contest. And your men would respect your honor for keeping the bargain, even as they regretted missing the opportunity to slay an old enemy. As would mine.” “They’d be more satisfied to blow your men to ashes.” “They would take considerable casualties in doing so.” “Agreed,” Johnny sighed. “Still . . . I hate to concede the advantage. Not good tactics.” “But excellent diplomacy.” “Terms?” “Non-projecting, non-powered hand weapons; no lasers or firearms. Bare steel. Hand weapons only – any weapon your champion chooses. First man unconscious or dead loses.” “Referee?” “I don’t see any handy neutral parties. I trust our own honor as soldiers of the Empire will suffice.” “Agreed. Who’s your champion?” “I am. I’ll fight with a long knife. Go back and select whichever victim you wish. I’ll be here, ready and waiting.” “Fine. Major . . . ?” “You haven’t realized it by now?” asked the officer with a chuckle. “Didn’t you notice the resemblance?” “Now that you mention it, you do look familiar.” “I should. I kind of look like that guy you see in the mirror every morning. I’m your ancestor. Major Lei Jin Bao.” He bowed elegantly. “I have the honor of being Lei Fong Wu’s younger brother.” “You . . . you were the Emperor’s brother?” “No,” disagreed the Major, unfastening his coat. “I was the Prime Minister’s brother, before he began his treason.” “I . . . see.” “Run along, now, pick a big dumb one. This shouldn’t take long,” he said, tossing his gun to the side and removing his coat. “No need,” Johnny said, after a moment. He tossed his own gun away, then the three others he had hidden about him. “I’ll fight you.” The Major stopped. “Don’t be an idiot. There are a hundred slabs of meat behind you who would die for the privilege. Will die,” he corrected. “They’re trained for it. They live for it. And they’re good at it, trained for years at the arts of combat. You? I hear you were a thug.” “I was a really good thug,” Johnny countered, taking off his armor and handing it to one of his bodyguards. He looked at the other one. “Go tell the sergeant what has passed. No one is to fire, by my command. Not unless there is treachery.” “And Leis are known for that,” added the Major, wryly. He stripped off his shirt, revealing an obscenely well-muscled chest and biceps that looked like overstuffed sausages then drew a knife from a sheath on his thigh that was a good six inches longer than any issued combat knife Johnny had ever seen. “Exactly. Which is why I have to do this. I can’t very well let such a challenge pass, you know,” Johnny said, drawing his bat from behind his back and twisting it in a lighting fast mollinet before bringing it to a stop with not a millimeter of overshoot. Major Lei’s eyebrows went up in surprise – apparently he had not anticipated such a choice. “I would lose honor, and my men would no longer follow me. Then my friends would die a horrible death, and I’d have to become a monk kill myself in grief and shame and guilt or some go se like that if I survived, and I really don’t have time for that. I have plans for later. I prefer the direct approach.” “Interesting,” the Major said, stroking his chin with the point of his knife. “It doesn’t bother you then,” he asked, flipping his knife around with impressive flourishes like a circus juggler, “fighting a member of your family? An ancestor, even?” “I don’t know you,” Johnny shrugged, putting his bat on his shoulder like he was waiting his turn at batting practice. “We well could be related, but I’m not superstitious about such things. And just a few weeks ago I beat my brother into unconsciousness – could have killed him. It’s all the same to me. Hey, if things go poorly for you, tell you what: I’ll light you a stick of incense and a candle at the family shrine. Hell, might even sing a hymn, if I’m drunk enough.” “How very pious of you,” the Major said, eyeing him coolly. “I’m generous like that. Enough of the chest thumping,” Johnny said, turning his baseball cap around. “I’ve got a date later. Let’s do this.”

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HAMMERSTRIKE TEAM ONE -23:55

“What are they doin’ now?” called one of the troops – Taylor, he thought it was. “Jus’ talkin’,” Rel said with a sigh. “That skinny ol’ Chinee likes to hear himself talk, looks like.” He was staring at the portable monitor while he ate dried fish snack (which would have been a lot better with beer, but canteen water would have to do), having volunteered for the duty in an effort to see River Tam once again. She was being held captive by these white-coated fellows, and he wasn’t real happy with that. So when Mr. Martel had steered one of their remote bugs into the chamber where everyone was being held, he had agreed to watch to see when something would happen. Something they could take advantage of. Martel wanted to rescue his men – and Rel didn’t have a problem with that, they were all right fellows, the ones that didn’t annoy the piss out of him – but he wanted River. He had been watching the tiny screen intently to catch a glimpse of her. The others were getting restless, and split into two quiet camps about what their next plan of action should be. Some were as intent on rescuing their people as Mr. Martel, but were eager for action and wanted to take on the Tigers right now. The others would just as soon abandon their comrades, skip back to the shuttle, and take their chances back on Madonna. Or Diablo. Or pretty much anywhere else. This ship was positively creepifying and they wanted to put it behind them as quickly as possible. Mr. Martel, of course, was having none of it. He had everyone on a two-minute warning protocol so that he could act quickly, when opportunity presented itself. He was anxious not just to rescue his people, but also to capture the lesser of the two Tam siblings. He paced around the room checking everyone’s equipment and making notes on his pad, muttering to himself. Truth to tell, he was starting to act like the obsessive cartoon character Cap’n Ahab Rel remembered from the CV. Rel continued to watch the show. The old Chinese man was still talking, and then other stuff started to happen. A couple of Tigers went out and pulled two men up to the front and next to him. He spoke some more – and they spoke back. Apparently an insult, of some kind, because the old Chinese man was starting to get agitated. Just how agitated became apparent a moment later when he snatched up a knife and started cutting on the larger of the two men’s shirts. That’s when his River woke up. “Mr. Martel!” Rel called out. “Gotta little action here! Looks like River just got involved!” Martel was at his shoulder before he finished the sentence. Rel adjusted the bug so that the screen framed his River on one side and the Chinese guy on the other. It was a whacky angle, but you could still make them out pretty clear. If only the acoustics had been better, he might have been able to hear what was being said, but the gigantic room made the sound do funny things, and the bug was apparently near an air vent that made so much noise you couldn’t pick it up. “What the hell is she playing at, I wonder?” Martel murmured. “She’s about to kick some ass,” Rel assured him. “Watch: she’ll take out at least . . . ten of them before they get a stunner on her.” “Ten? Don’t be an idiot, son. Those johnnies are elite combat troops with assault weapons and stunners. She doesn’t have so much as a flyswatter.” “Won’t make no difference,” Rel disagreed. “Not like it’s a room full o’ hungry Reavers or nothin’. She’ll get at least ten of ‘em. You don’t screw with River Tam. See?” he said, pointing to the screen, where his River had just gotten out of her bonds. “They’re just talking,” observed Martel. “She isn’t close enough to do any damage.” “I still say ten of them. I’d be willin’ to wager hard money.” “I’d take that action,” Martel said. “Say . . . ten to one?” “Ten to one. She gets at least ten. I got,” he said, digging into his pockets, “Lessee, I got two hundred in Madonna scrip, another eighty in Fed notes, six platinums, three golds, an’ this bee-utiful low-mileage ring I . . . found. About . . . a thousand, total?” “Done,” Martel nodded. “Easiest money I ever made.” “I’m tellin’ you, you ain’t gonna win.” “We’ll see. What’s she . . .” The old Chinese man was arguing with his River, it seemed, and he was getting more and more agitated. A few more of his comrades crowded around the screen to watch. His River kept slowly walking up towards the front of the group towards the Chinese man, talking. When he picked the big knife back up and held it to the prisoner’s throat, Rel thought for sure that his River would explode into action like an avenging angel. Instead she just put her head down, and screamed . . . something. He couldn’t see her face well enough to see what it was. Whatever it was, it seemed to make the Chinese man happy . . . at first. Then he was not so happy, then he was horrified about the same time that . . . “Holy Shit!” Martel exclaimed. “Gan ni lao ma pi gu!” Rel said, spraying canteen water all over. “Son of a bitch!” one of the other men said. On the screen it looked like . . . well, it looked as if every single one of the Tigers’ heads . . . exploded.” “Jesus, pan left – pan left! Your other left! Now down – just give me the gorram controller! Is that blood?” “Blood an’ brains! Made their gou tsao de heads . . . explode!” “That’s disgusting!” one of the men moaned. “We gotta go up against that?” “Every one,” Martel said, his voice wavering. “She killed . . . she killed every single one!” “Note that there are more than ten of them down, Sir,” Rel said respectfully. His River had just made him passably rich! “Noted. She got them all but . . . that old guy,” Martel noted. “What kind of gorram weapon can do that?” he demanded. “That’s some freaky black box stuff, gotta be! Black ops. Selective. Only took out the soldiers, none of her people, none of ours, just . . .” he swallowed hard. “I want everyone locked, loaded and ready to move in sixty seconds! We’re going in after our people before that . . . whatever it was . . . has time to recharge! Maybe if we move quick, we can get them and get River Tam. MOVE!” Rel shrugged on his armor, clicked the buckles, and picked up his rifle while still trying to stare at the screen and his River. The old Chinese guy was running away, now, and his River was staring around at the carnage she had wrought. Then she did a pretty little tap-dance step and started heaving. Just as he was about to line up, she seemed to look up at the camera and stare directly at him – just for a moment, but he was sure she knew he was watching. Those eyes. “I’m comin’ for ya, girl,” Rel said under his breath. “Don’t you worry none, I’ll come an’ get you. They shoulda known better. You don’t screw with River Tam.”

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AD HOC SEARCH & RESCUE TEAM -23:55

“I think we’re lost,” Simon commented as he propelled the mule forward. “I think you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zoe replied, an edge in her voice. “We ain’t lost. We . . . we might be a mite turned around, is all.” “Well look, there’s a map up ahead on the wall, just like the last one we looked at. And look! There’s a candy bar wrapper on the floor, just like the one I ate in front of the last map. Are you sure he didn’t double back?” “So where did you learn your professional tracking skills? Sounds like somethin’ off the CV. ‘Doubled back.’ Leave the job to the experts, boy.” “You’re right,” admitted Simon with a straight face. “I guess I should have taken ‘Tracking and Stalking’ when it was offered as an elective in fourth year at the medacad. Only I wasted my time with ‘Emergency Limb Reattachment: the Neurological Component’ instead. I was so young and foolish.” “You apparently made it to ‘Basic Smartass’, I note,” Zoe said with a grimace. “That was first year,” Simon agreed. “Tuesday-Thursday afternoon class – hard to pass up. And there was this really cute smartass girl . . .” he added as he let the mule come to a stop. “How long has it been since you picked up the blood trail? A couple of hours or so?” “Right about,” Zoe agreed reluctantly. “Perhaps we should consider returning to the ship – assuming we can find our way back, that is – and getting more help. Because the novelty of chasing around a dark and spooky derelict spaceship orbiting a dead world on the ass-end of the ‘verse after a pain-crazed wounded preacher is starting to wear off.” “Perhaps we should,” Zoe admitted with a sigh. “Maybe . . . maybe we can get some internal sensor turned on, or something.” “And maybe Book came to his senses and went back to Serenity,” suggested Simon. “I ain’t thinkin’ that’s likely,” Zoe said. “Preacher has a bug up his butt about somethin’, an’ I don’t see him given up, less he was dead.” “Now there’s a cheery thought. Okay, what should we do?” Zoe thought long and hard for a moment. “We should go back to the trail. Go to the second to last blood sign and pick up from there. ‘Cause I’m starting to get the notion that this wiley preacher has backtracked on us.” “What a brilliant theory!” Simon said with mock astonishment. “You know Simon, I like you,” she said, her mouth in a small, tight grin. “You know why? Here you are, chasing around a derelict spaceship over a dead world on the ass-end of the ‘verse after a pain-crazed wounded preacher in the company of a cold blooded killer who could end you and stuff you in a spare corridor where no one would notice, and still you cleave to your humor. Takes balls. I admire that.” “So which way?” Zoe looked up and down the corridor, glanced at the map, and then pointed. “This way.” “You sure?” “Nobody would know . . .” she said, drawing her shotgun playfully. “River would know,” Simon pointed out. “She might take it amiss.” “You gonna hide behind your sister’s skirts?” “She owes me a few. Okay, we’ll go this way.” He got the mule moving again. A few moments of silence passed. “You think Wash got back from his field trip?” “He’d better,” agreed Zoe. “We have a marital counseling appointment.” “I assume that there will be a violent component to this session?” “You assume correctly. I don’t know what possessed him . . . yeah, actually, I suppose I do. He couldn’t turn down the chance to fly one of them shiny planes any more’n I could turn down this fancy rifle. It’s in his blood.” “No doubt. Still, he should have asked permission.” “Wash is his own man,” Zoe defended. “He didn’t need to ask permission. I ain’t that kind of wife.” “So you don’t mind him going off like that?” “I said he didn’t need permission. I didn’t say he didn’t need to discuss it with me first.” “A subtle distinction,” agreed Simon. “Look, thing is about married life, you know your mate’s gonna screw up on a regular basis, Wash more’n most fellas. When it’s not irritating as piss, it’s endearing. So when he does, we argue about it, then make up, then have make up sex, and then wait for the next screw up. I’m plenty hot about this – don’t mistake me. But I’m more worried than pissed, truth be told. He ain’t never been in a fighter plane before. He’s a hot pilot – my baby’s the best! But this is way, way out o’ his element. I’m just hopin’ he didn’t do nothin’ too scary, didn’t screw up too badly. Take this left.” “I’m sure he’s fine,” Simon assured. “He’ll be waiting for you when we get back and you two can have your ‘marital counseling’ session while the rest of us catch up on our sleep. Happiness for all.” “I don’t know,” Zoe said, shaking her head. “I got this feelin’ – call it wive’s intuition – that somethin’ went amiss. Not . . . terminally, I think, but I just got this naggin’ feelin’ that he’s in trouble, somehow. Worried, maybe.” “About you?” “Nah, I’m used to that. No, I have a notion that he got . . . put in a bad situation.” “ ‘Wive’s intuition’?” Simon asked with a chuckle. “You mean to say that River could have skipped all the painful brain surgery to become telepathic and just gotten married, instead?” “It’s just somethin’ that happens to married folk. You get to . . . feelin’ what your husband is up to. You know when he’s up to no good, when he’s in pain, when he’s in trouble. Comes from sleepin’ next to him every night, hearin’ his breathing, his snores. Can’t explain it. Just how the ‘verse works, I imagine.” “Remind me never to get married, then,” Simon said. “If I can’t pull off a poker face playing for ship’s chores with Book and Jayne, I’d never be able to conceal anything from a wife.” “Simplest remedy is to not do anything what needs discoverin’,” Zoe said smugly. “Human nature would be against that. We all keep secrets.” “Yes, yes we do,” agreed Zoe. “Right, here.” “I just hope your wrong. I’m sure you are. Wash is a good pilot, and I can’t see him letting anything happen to himself out there.” “I hope your right, Doc,” Zoe said with a sigh. “But I just can’t shake the feelin’ that he’s in trouble, somehow.”

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DELTA TEAM LEADER -23:44

Wash stared out the viewport at the majestic view around him. There was the mottled, cold globe of Hecate, its dead cities and farmlands locked in eternal stasis. There was the bright, mottled sphere of the gas giant. There was the sliver of the gorram frigate, recently tagged and still off-line (at least, they had no running lights). And there was the gargantuan bulk of the Sun Tzu looming ahead of him. He took a moment to make a very careful, almost hesitant course correction as he coasted along, then returned to the friendly, starry spacescape outside. It was strange, he noted, to be in motion without the hum and whine of the engines behind him. But the quiet gave him time to think. As he glanced out at the time bombs strapped to his wings, considered Zoe’s desire for offspring, missed his little plastic dino pals, and reminisced about less deadly screw-ups in the past, a single thought kept intruding on his mind, a thought that became so overwhelming that he had to speak it, though only the stars could witness it. “Y’know, I could really go for a waffle about now,” he said with a sigh as the stars floated by.