The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Seventy Seven

SERENITY + 0:48

Mal slogged up the ramp to his ship as tired as he had felt since the War ended. His chin was in need of attention, and if he didn’t sleep soon he would collapse. He had grabbed a ten-minute catnap on the lift but it was weak tea to what his body craved. Sleep, glorious sleep. He was gratified to know that he and his people had come through the whole crazy adventure intact, if not untouched. He worried about Book – no one had laid eyes upon him yet – but Master Lei had assured his nephew that they would be activating the internal sensor array the moment the ship ran through its start-up diagnostics. That could be in an hour or six, there was no way to tell. Until then all they could do was rest up and tend to their many wounds. But at first opportunity he wanted to get paid and get the hell off of this relic. It had been fun, hunting for treasure. He had met some interesting people, only a few of which had tried to kill him, and he had accomplished . . . something. Just what he had accomplished was a matter for later thought, once they were safely off and into the Black. He noticed the addition of Imperial Guards. Ordinarily, the sight of so many well-armed, highly organized military types around his ship would have made him uncomfortable, but after dealing with the White Tigers AND the Hammer Group, he had come to see the golden coats of the Imperial Guards as welcome sights. Besides, after Johnny’s single combat against his apparent ancestor, the leader of the Tigers, he was revered just this side of divine by the men. He was sorry he missed it. Evidently it was some show. It did feel strange, however, to be on the winning side for once. He could get used to it. After the last two days, and the two months or so before them, he was appreciative to have a reasonably whole skin. Winning was just icing. Kaylee waited at the top of the ramp looking even worse than usual. He swore, if it hadn’t been for her unmistakable bust from ten feet away she would have looked like any other grease monkey he’d ever seen. The fact that she was holding a bottle and smiling mitigated the effect somewhat. Kaylee’s smile had a power all of its own. “Hi, Cap’n!” she said, grinning. “You got the lights on! And you’re alive!” “Don’t feel like it,” he grumbled good naturedly. “Heard from Zoe yet?” “Not a peep. Should we be worried?” she asked, her brow furrowed with anxiety. “And Simon?” she added. “Nah, I sent Jayne to fetch ‘em. Spoke to Master Lei on the lift on the way back. He said with the Engine Room online we should be able to use the internal sensors to find Book from the Bridge, and track down any stray kitty cats in the bargain. Said it should be ready in a couple of hours. Things are a mess up there, but His Highness sent a couple o’ dozen Guards up there to help out.” “Will Book . . . last that long?” “Oh, honey, he’s gonna be fine,” soothed Mal. “He’s beat up pretty bad but that sick bastard was . . . he’ll be fine.” “How ‘bout Johnny? An’ Captain Campbell, and –” “They’re all good, sweetie. We lost a couple of the commandos, though. Things got pretty hairy down there. Johnny’s a few lifts behind me, with his honor guard an’ River and Campbell. They’re makin’ a few stops t’post some men at important points, collect some gear. I wanted to come on ahead an’ see to the ship. Maybe catch a nap an’ a shave. Gotta look good for His Highness, after all. Boy’s grown quite a bit in the last day or so.” “Nyan Nyan, mayhap?” “A good woman can inspire a man t’greatness. And mulish stupidity,” he conceded. “She’s awful nice,” Kaylee agreed, eagerly. “She’s got it bad for Johnny, too, I can tell these things. She an’ ‘Nara been holed up in her shuttle since they got back, restorin’ her beauty an’ feminine allure.” She frowned. “Wisht I had some feminine allure.” “Aw, come now, you look ravishin’, an’ you know it. The grease on your nose, the smell of fine precision lubricants . . . any one o’ these strong Imperial bucks’d be happy to bed you, mark me,” Mal teased. “Thanks, Cap’n!” Kaylee beamed. “Plus, you’re the only unspoken-for woman in several cubic parsecs and, in some cases, several decades for the lot of them,” he added. “Gee, thanks,” Kaylee replied, smacking him in the arm. He winced – he hurt all over. “That bottle for me?” he asked, nodding as he put down his rifle on a convenient crate. “Yessir!” she said, the smile restored. “Thought you might like a snort when you got home.” “Remind me to tell you I love you dearly,” Mal said gratefully, taking the bottle. He used his teeth to pull the cork and spat it out, then turned up the bottle for a healthy swallow. He nearly spat it back out again. The crap in the spacer bars he was used to was small beer next to this reactor juice. He kept his liquor while he glanced at the bottle. A single-malt from Hibernia on Londinum, 180 proof. Something Simon had liberated from Hecate, he remembered. “Gorram, woman!” he said when he caught his breath again. “That lifted my ruttin’ scalp!” She dimpled. “Simon gave it to me. It’s far too good for everyday. But Wash and I figgered we were due a celebration.” “That we are,” Mal agreed. “First time I ever won a war,” he admitted. “Oh. Well yeah, I guess there is that,” Kaylee said, as if she had forgotten. “Where is Mr. Washburn, anyway?” he asked. “Ain’t he in charge?” As if it were an answer, a harsh snore permeated the hold. Mal looked up. Wash was asleep on top of a big covered crate – likely some of the stuff they had looted – dressed in a baggy blue flightsuit Mal hadn’t remembered seeing before. “Well, guess I can’t fault him for a nap,” he decided. ‘Still, ain’t proper to be sleepin’ on watch,” he pronounced. “Yeah, well, I’m on watch right now,” Kaylee said, turning up the bottle for a generous snort of her own. “I’m on top of things, yessiree,” she said after she swallowed and sighed. “What the hell is he on top of? Y’all find some good loot? ‘Cause I ain’t payin’ you t’ sit here and not steal the place blind, y’know.” Kaylee stared at him, and took another sip. “Loot? You could say that.” “Why all the mystification?” Mal asked, suddenly concerned. Kaylee wasn’t usually this evasive. “Well, I . . . Here, let me just show you,” she said, handing the bottle back. She pulled a corner of the tarpaulin up and tucked it under Wash, who didn’t seem to notice. He was, however, drooling profusely. “Shiny. Looks expensive. What . . . are those . . . transnuclear derivatives?” he asked, knowing as soon as he said it that they weren’t. “Nope.” Kaylee said definitively, returning to his side and grabbing the bottle. “Then . . . nah,” he said, dismissing the thought almost as soon as it occurred. “Yep,” Kaylee said, handing the bottle back after another generous swallow. “Three thousand pounds of platinum. Three nines fine. Johnny sent it. Looks like we got paid at last. Now ‘bout that raise . . .” “Three . . . thousand . . . pounds,” Mal said. Without taking his eyes from the exposed stack of bricks, he took the bottle that had seemed so potent only moments before and took three titanic swallows from it. It went down like water. “That’s . . .” “A lot,” Kaylee supplied. “A whole gorram lot,” Mal agreed. “Five an’ a half shitloads, is what my Pa would say.” “He’d only be half right. That’s ten shitloads, or I’m a Reaver’s lunch date.” “I stand corrected.” “That’s . . . how much is that?” “’Nara says its about forty four million, Fed.” “Forty four million.” “Yep.” “Well, she’d know. Gorram, that’s . . . that’s a helluva lot o’ cash.” “Yep,” Kaylee agreed. “I figger my cut’s about four million an’ change. How much did you pay for Serenity?” “Considerable less. An’ no, I ain’t sellin’ you my ship.” “Just inquirin’,” Kaylee said, defensively. The effects of the liquor were starting to show. “Da bien wah,” Mal breathed, still staring. He reached out and touched it, the cool metal, and only tore his eyes away when Wash let out a particularly abrasive snore. He glanced back at Kaylee. “You think there’s room up there for me, too?” “This is pretty gorram big, Cap,” Kaylee said in a reverent tone. “We all rich, now. Filthy stinkin’.” “Da bien wah,” Mal repeated. He reached into the pile and pried one of the bricks loose. The Imperial Crest was stamped into the top – which made it a collectors’ item, no doubt – and it had a comfortably heavy heft to it. Despite himself he brought it to his lips and bit it, lightly. He trusted his teeth more than his eyes. The feel was familiar. It was genuine. Mal grinned like an idiot. “First I win a war, then I get rich,” he said, shaking his head. “What a day!” “Yeah, you get some tail, you’d be in heaven,” Kaylee said, unthinkingly. “Me, too, actually.” Realizing the implications of what she just said, she stared at Mal, her eyes wide. “Cap, y’know what this means?” Mal startled, as he took her meaning. “NO, Kaylee. Don’t let your greasy li’l head even wander down that path.” “But . . . you . . . an’ Inara . . .” “Stow that, Frye!” he barked. “Ain’t like you couldn’t afford her rates, now,” Kaylee grumbled. “I said end it. My personal life is not to be a topic of speculation amongst the crew. I thought I’d made that abundantly clear.” “You did,” Kaylee admitted guiltily. “Don’t stop us thinkin’. An’ whisperin’ outta earshot.” She looked up at him like a petulant child. “Cap! You’re blushin’!” “Am not!” Mal defended. “You are too! Lit up like a supernova. I could get a tan on that blush!” “Kaylee, when we get back t’civilized parts, you’re free to wander off an captain your own ship, live in a mansion, buy up the ‘verse’s supply o’ puppy dogs an’ teddy bears, or whatever th’ hell else you wanna do with your cut. ‘Till that day, you obey my command.” “Leave . . . Serenity?” Kaylee asked, eyes wide with horror. “Oh, no, Cap, I could never . . .” “Then that’s the last I’ll hear from you ‘bout me an’ . . . anyone. My intimate business is mine alone. Dong ma?” “Yes, Captain,” she agreed, sullenly. “Good. I’ll be in my bunk. You might could let Kitten know her intended’s about two hours out. Might wanna make herself pretty.” “Yessir.” Mal stalked off up the catwalk and back to his quarters. On the way he paused once to look down at the stack of treasure below, with Wash curled up on top like a dragon at repose on his horde. Mal shook his head and continued. “Da bien ruttin’ wah,” he muttered under his breath. He didn’t realize he still held the brick of platinum until he started down the ladder to his bunk. He bit it again, just to make it more real, and descended in a better mood. Mal tossed it on the bunk on the way down, where it landed like . . . like a brick of platinum. He stripped off his boots moments after they landed on the deck, and he tossed his browncoat onto its hook, followed by his gunbelt. He slipped his arms out of his braces and carefully sprawled on his bunk, wriggling his newly liberated toes luxuriously. A moment later he dug the brick of platinum out of his back and set it on his chest, where he stared at it. Da bien wah. Big change. That wasn’t quite accurate, of course; da bien wah was better translated as “paradigm shift”, a watershed event that fundamentally changed everything. Usually it was misused by Anglics to describe any little change, as Anglics were culturally prone to hyperbole. It was entirely accurate in this case. Mal sighed. He had never expected to get rich. Sure, his life of crime did have, theoretically, the mythical One Big Job that would allow everyone to retire with abundance as its ultimate goal. Realistically, running smuggling and the occasional armed robbery were just ways to kill time until some lucky sonuvabitch put a bullet in his back. He had never expected to get rich. Not on One Big Job. He was a scoundrel-for-hire, not a criminal mastermind. What would become of him as a retired scoundrel? Despite his irritation with Kaylee, she did have some compelling points. With . . . what would his share be? Considerable, at least eight million or so, maybe more, after the split. With that kind of money he could afford to buy a new ship, fresh off the line, customized, even, with all the modern conveniences. Something that would fly rings around this decrepit old Firefly. He dismissed the thought. He couldn’t part with the ship, that much was for certain. He might upgrade a few of her systems, but he’d always keep her. Perhaps as a playboy’s yacht, but he’d keep her. He started to fantasize as he drifted closer to sleep. He could just see himself as an aristocrat, say on Persephone. Buy a lordship and estate, perhaps. Keep Serenity in a hanger out back, in case he wanted to jaunt over to Athens, or vacation on Verbena . . . get a big, ostentatious mansion. Do a little trading on the side, just to keep things interesting. Teach the Persephonites a thing or two about dueling with pistols. Strut around with a red sash in Atherton Wing’s home court, platinum-plated sword banging on his hip – he’d pay money himself to see that. A gorgeous woman on his arm. He could spend a few years letting the local nobles’ daughters chase after him – he’d need companionship . . . Inara. Kaylee was right about that, too. With that kind of capital at his disposal, he could, conceivably, buy out her services . . . for the rest of her life. She’d go no more to another man’s arms. He’d have full enjoyment of her companionship for the rest of his life . . . under her terms. But under his? Mal had a deep-seated loathing for the idea of purchasing love like you did reactor fuel or ammunition or a pound of butter. Love was not a commodity to be traded. Sex, yes, if necessary. He had seen too many situations where whoring was the only economic solution for some women, especially during the War. And then there were those, like Nandi, for whom whoring was a natural vocation. He’d met others for whom their position of choice was missionary, when there were other viable options. He did not begrudge a woman that. But what Inara did went beyond spreading her legs for a fee, despite his crude remarks to the contrary. She rented out her heart. A Companion shared not just her body, but her emotional life, as well. A Companion could not help but become emotionally invested in her clients, it was part of the service. Even when he had gone toe-to-toe and blade-to-blade with Atherton Wing over a slight to her honor, she had had mixed feelings about it. She had cared for Atherton, right up to the point where he lost her respect. And she cared for others, too. The woman on Athens. That Mason fellow on Epiphany. Others he knew about, and a whole crowd he didn’t know about. Every single one had shared a piece of her heart. He wondered if she had any left to herself. No, he could not, he thought, approach Inara on her terms and still live with himself, no matter how much he might gain in the bargain. For bargain it would be. His newly acquired fortune would not buy him a whore, fee for service. His pride wouldn’t let him. It might, however, be enough to purchase a wedding ring, he considered, as he drifted off to sleep, a shiny bar of fondest dreams clutched to his chest. *

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AD HOC RESCUE TEAM -22:41

“You gonna eat that?” Jayne asked Zoe innocently. He was sitting on the mule, a big plastic tray of hundred-year-old dumplings steaming in front of him. It was his second. He plied the plastic chopsticks skillfully around them, making quite a mess and enthusiastic noises of contentment as he did so. They had picked the VIP lounge of the hanger bay for their picnic, as the chairs were comfortable, the sink and bathrooms still worked, and it was in close proximity to a lift station. Jayne had assured them that the power would be on presently, and that ten minutes after that – should the lift be functional – they would be back at Serenity. “Yes, and if you get your fingers any closer, I might eat them as well,” she said warily. Zoe had found herself a chair, and ate her meal gratefully. Her weapons were near to hand. “Here, take mine,” Simon said, pushing his tray towards the mercenary. The rubbery slivers of duck swam in a watery, greasy sea of off-color sauce next to a discouraging heap of brown, dried-looking rice that had congealed into one depressing mass. The heating element in the bottom of the tray, which was supposed to improve the flavor and aroma, had failed to do either. “I don’t know what made me think that duck in army rations would be somehow improved by twelve decades of storage.” Jayne pulled the half-eaten tray towards him possessively. “Ain’t the worst meal I ever et,” Jayne said. “Not by a mile.” “Are all army rations this . . . utterly appalling?” Zoe stared at him. “Well, we didn’t fight a war on account of the elegant cuisine, if that’s your implication. Truth is, this beats just about all the victuals we had in the War. Rations and ammunition were always in short supply, and what rations came in were a damn sight less tasty than this antique. Usually we scrounged. If we were lucky, we’d take Alliance rations. After three weeks of eatin’ beans an’ rice, a freeze-dried packet of Chicken Kiev is like ambrosia.” “You get hungry enough, you’ll eat just about anything and ask for seconds,” Jayne said with his mouth full. “I remember once when our platoon got pinned down behind Alliance lines on some no-name mountainside,” Zoe said as she picked at her rice. “Ten days. We had enough rations for three. ‘Bout day seven, we were in a freeze on account o’ some gorram Alliance laser snipers. Stayed in position for hours. Mal was so still that a rabbit came right up to him.” “Oh, God, I don’t like where this is going,” Simon moaned. “He grabbed it, broke its neck, and skinned it. Passed me the hindquarters. We were going to have to eat it raw, o’ course. Couldn’t build a fire that might attract mortars. Mal wouldn’t stand for that, though, so he stuck the front end on a stick an’ waved it around. Gorram snipers got jumpy and zapped it . . . just enough to cook it a bit. But he was a sight, face all unshaven, covered with blood and rabbit fur . . .” she said, shaking her head and smiling at the memory. “Well, doesn’t that present a lovely mental image,” Simon said as his face grew pale. “C’mon, Doc,” Jayne teased. “You been arse-deep in people innards afore. You gonna let a little bunny blood skeeve you?” “Are you trying to put the delicate art of emergency surgery on the same level as the brutal dismemberment and devouring of a hapless rodent?” Jayne looked confounded. “Well . . . yeah, I guess so. If I understood proper whatcha said. ‘Sall blood. Just a different kind is all.” “On that pleasant note,” Simon said distastefully, “I’m going to spend the next twenty minutes napping on that couch over there. Wake me up when the lights come on – if I don’t wake up screaming in horror before then.” He stretched out on the plush sofa and pulled his coat over his head. In moments he started snoring. “Maybe we shouldn’t be so hard on him,” Zoe said as she finished her meal. “After all, he is a crewmate. Just ‘cause he ain’t from the Rim don’t mean we got to have a burnin’ call to torture his brain like that.” Jayne stared at her, and she could see the wheels turning – albeit slowly – behind his eyes. They reached the same conclusion at the same time. “Nah,” they said in unison. Torturing Simon about such things was just too much fun. The two of them kicked around a number of other improbable stories of war and crime, violence and humor. After the hectic pace of the last few days, it was almost relaxing. Zoe stood up swiftly with her assault rifle ready and pointing towards the entrance to the lounge. Jayne was right behind her, his big black revolver aimed at the door. “What . . .?” he muttered. “Someone’s comin’,” she whispered back. “Might could be Tigers,” Jayne agreed, pulling a second pistol from his belt and taking cover behind the battered mule. Despite the tense moments, the men who rounded the corner were not dressed in white, but black tactical gear. The Hammer Group logo stood out on their chests. They looked dejected and defeated and altogether relieved to be leaving the ship. They glanced at the Serenity crew, but not one of them bore their weapon in a threatening manner. Jayne relaxed a bit and holstered one of his pistols. Zoe followed suit to the point of taking the rifle off her shoulder, but she didn’t let it fall out of play. “’Sall right,” Jayne pronounced. “Cap’n worked out a truce with them. They gotta leave the ship, no fightin’. Buncha chou wang ba dan, y’ask me.” “Cool your jets, da diao. They outnumber us a bit,” Zoe murmured. “Them ji bai? Most o’ them were two-bit crooks afore they took up arms. Couple o’ decent folk – some Browncoats, I guess. But there were some ex-cops, too. If that’s what passes for mercenary work these days, I think I’ll stick with you an’ Mal.” “I’m overcome with gratitude,” Zoe said dryly. She relaxed a little more as it became clear that the only thing the Hammerstrike men wanted to do was evacuate. In the distance she could hear the warm-up whine of their shuttle’s turbines. Jayne, of course, couldn’t keep silent. He started muttering insults just loud enough to be heard, snickering and chuckling at his own wit as he loaded them down with a selection of nasty Sinic and Anglic insults. “Yangwei yin yang ren!” he snorted. “Shut up, Jayne,” Zoe said. “Ni meiyou langun!” “Shut up, Jayne,” Zoe repeated. “Steamin’ pile o’ nutless wonders!” “Shut up, Jayne,” Zoe said again, bored. “Ni male ge bi!” Jayne said gleefully to a large man as he passed. The man scowled but otherwise ignored him. “Shut up, Jayne,” Zoe said, with a little more emphasis. “What? I ain’t shootin’ at ‘em.” “You keep that up, they’ll be shootin’ at us, truce or no.” “Sorry. The stench of their incompetence is cloudin’ my judgement,” he said, just loud enough to be heard. Still the Hammer Group’s men took little notice. This seemed to frustrate Jayne. “Y’all can’t hear me? Se mi mi de ren yanse lang!” “Shut. Up. Jayne.” “C’mon! It’s the march of the dickless wonders! It’s a gorram parade o’ losers!” “That’s enough, Jayne!” Zoe said, starting to lose her temper. “Don’ worry, they’re almost gone. Ni ya lianzhang de gen lan bi shi de!” he called. “You’re gonna get us killed,” complained Zoe. “Hey, watch this!” he said. He picked up his plastic chopsticks and used them as an improvised catapult, sending a dumpling sailing in a flattish arc through the door. It hit a smaller man in the side of the head. He grimaced, and put his hand on his weapon, but kept moving. Zoe was almost impressed. If they were as much of a mess as Jayne had said, they had developed some decent discipline in short order. Jayne couldn’t help himself. He shot another dumpling after the men, followed by a string of invective, and then another. On his fourth he tagged a portly mercenary in the back of the head. The man didn’t move, but the dumpling landed directly in the path of the man behind him, who skidded on the slippery stuffed noodle and fell – dropping a double armful of petty loot they had gathered en route to the shuttle. The mercenary slid right into the sharp corner of the doorway and cracked his forehead and nose, which proceeded to pour with blood. “Tha’s a gorram goal!” Jayne said triumphantly, reserving the next dumpling for his own mouth. The noise woke Simon, who looked up, shook his head clear, and looked up again. The man was on his knees trying to staunch the flow of blood with his hand while he dug in his belt pouch for a first aid kit. The look in his eyes was a combination of exhaustion and misery that Zoe knew all too well. She sighed and knelt by the man. “You all right?” she inquired quietly. “I gotta apologize for my man there. He makes a compelling argument for parents eating their young.” “Do, do, iss allrigh’” the man said miserably. “C’mon, stand up. Lean forward a bit . . .” The man’s commander came up from the rear, as the last of the Hammerstrike team past by. He took one look and saw that Zoe was, indeed, helping out. With a disgusted sigh he took a look himself. “That’s gonna hurt a while,” the older man murmured. “Your . . . Zoe? Zoe Washburn?” “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” she said, cautiously. “Oh, I’ve read your file. Exemplary service record during the war, then you get tangled up with this gang of thugs. Shame to see such skills go to waste.” “They were good enough to kick your ass!” Jayne added scornfully. “Jayne, if you don’t seal your mouth shut I’ll do it for you. With field epoxy. No, fella, don’t tilt your head back – you’re like to drown in the blood. Forward.” “And pinch the nose at the bridge,” added the man she knew must be Julian Martel. “You were the one who commanded the resistance on your ship at the Salisbury spaceport, weren’t you? Good work, there. Even if I lost a lot of good men. You fought well.” “Thanks,” Zoe said, absently. “Sorry ‘bout all the killin’. Nothin’ personal, you understand. Serenity is my home, and if you fire on her you’d best expect a return barrage.” “Feel the same way,” agreed Julian. “This ain’t stoppin’ proper. He should probably get a shot of coag. Medic! Doc, gotta patient for you. No gunshots this time, promise.” “Jen dao mei, I just got to sleep,” Simon complained, pulling himself out from the cover of his coat. “Can’t you people go five minutes without a ruttin’ surgical trauma?” “Just a bloody nose, Doc,” Zoe soothed. “Take all o’ two minutes.” “Fine, fine,” Simon said with disgust as he looked for his medikit. “Hippocrates never had days like this.” Just then the lights came on, and all manner of systems began powering up. Zoe glanced at the lights. “Looks like you’ll be able to see proper, too, for a change,” she added. “Oh, rapture.” Simon came over and examined the man. “Look down. Now left. Now left. Now your other left. There . . . that hurt?” “Doh.” “How about that?” “Ow! Gorram it!” “I take that as a yes. Congratulations. You have a broken nose. You have a history of hemophilia?” “Uh . . . Doh. Don’ dink so,” the man decided. “Well, just in case, let’s give you a little something to stop the blood. And for the pain.” He opened his medikit on the hood of the mule and selected his airhypo and a small white tube. In seconds the hiss of the injection rang out. In moments more the bleeding stopped. “Now get some ice on it as soon as you can, and keep it clear. It will scab over soon enough, but you’re going to have a little bruising. Low-level painkillers should work.” “Good work, Simon,” Zoe said approvingly. “Yes, very nice work,” agreed Julian. “After all the feh hua we’ve been through, it’s mighty gracious of you to tend to my man.” “It’s what I do,” Simon said tiredly. “God, it’s about all I do.” “I certainly appreciate it,” agreed Julian, jovially. “Now that we have power, let’s head back to the ship. I need a week’s worth of sleep, and I’ve got a preacher to track down and treat and an infirmary of recovering gunshot wound patients.” “Sign me up,” agreed Zoe. “Now, hold on, a moment,” Julian said. “Let’s not be hasty.” Suddenly he drew a large caliber revolver and aimed it square at Jayne’s head, and a machine pistol at Zoe’s. “Simon Tam, you are bound by law to surrender your weapon and stand down!” “Oh bloody ruttin’ hell!” Simon swore. “Gorram it!” Jayne said angrily with a mouth full of duck. “We had a gorram truce!” “My agreement with your Captain was to leave the ship without a fight, and without River Tam. He also said we could take whatever wasn’t nailed down on our way out. I don’t know if a legal court would consider Simon Tam as loot, but he’s worth several hundred thousand credits to me – and I get to stop his plans for a terrorist insurrection in the bargain, I’ll take my chances before a judge. Williams, get their guns.” “You know this ain’t fair!” Jayne howled as the man with the bloody nose lifted his weaponry. “Shut up, Jayne,” Simon, Zoe, and Julian all said at once. Williams, the man with the broken nose, took Simon’s pistol, adding a quiet “Sorry!”, then moved to pull Jayne’s gunbelt off and kick his guns into a pile. He then moved to cover Zoe with her own assault rifle after he searched her for additional weapons. “This doesn’t seem a particularly gracious response to my standard of care,” complained Simon as his pistol was taken. “You are free to file a grievance with the bounty hunters’ guild,” Julian said with a sneer. He tagged his headset. “Marty! Send about four men back here. We got a man down. Nothin’ serious but . . . bring some restraints.” He looked at his captives. “Three pairs.” “WHAT?” Zoe and Jayne said in unison. “That ain’t proper ‘tall!” Jayne whined. “You got a warrant for him – hell, take ‘im, he ain’t been nothin’ but a whiner the whole time. I’ll tie him up my own self and take some pleasure in it. But me an’ Zoe? We ain’t done nothin’!” “There’s a few warrants out there I can pin on you, Mr. Cobb. Oh, yes, I’ve read your file, too. You aren’t worth much, I admit, but you might help defray some of my expenses. You too, Mrs. Washburn. If nothing else, I got you on ‘conspiring to rebel against lawful authority’.” “Now ain’t that a trumped up charge!” she said, bitterly. “Nothin’ personal,” Julian said. “But I can’t rightly haul in two criminals and leave one behind. Not good business.” He pushed all three of them into a line. “In a moment we will board my shuttle. Then we will go to my ship, where you three will share an uncomfortable cell for the next few days. After that . . . well, when we hit the Alliance base at Antoinette, well, they can see to you there.” He grinned viciously. “After that, you aren’t my problem any more, and if you all hang on the same day I’ll count it a pretty damn decent day in the ‘verse. I may have lost the battle, but I just won the gorram war! You got anything to say for yourself, Mr. Evil Genius?” Simon stared at him. “That’s ‘Doctor Evil Genius’ to you,” he said, resigned.