The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Eighty-Six

“We have a problem,” Julian said with a quiet sigh. “We have several,” Sinclair said sarcastically as he toweled his hair dry. “Shall I name them? Do you want the list alphabetically, or in order of importance?” “I mean a big problem. I . . . think we’ve been mistaken about some of our basic assumptions.” “What do you mean?” Sinclair asked, balling up the towel. The two men shared the Captain’s suite, one bunk on each side with a relatively luxurious bathroom and common area in between – which included a lavish wet bar. Julian poured himself a double whiskey and added ice. “I mean the Tams . . . their interrogations. They didn’t conform to my preconceived notions,” he admitted. “You should probably explain what you mean by that,” Sinclair said, carefully. “Their story . . . what if I told you part of me believes it?” Sinclair wrinkled his brow. “What, you’re going to believe every bullshit story a capture tells you?” he asked, skeptically. “Hear me out. I’ve been over it, over everything he said. Everything they said. The Simon Tam I expected . . . he didn’t show.” “I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” “I said hear me out. All the cues were wrong.” “Keep going.” “You know I’m good under the lights. Every time I’ve caught a gang and sat them down for chitchat, the cues are always the same. The big boss plays it cool and doesn’t say anything, the little guys will talk with a little brisk encouragement, but they’re more scared of the big boss than me. They know I won’t off them, and he damn well will at the first opportunity, if they betray him. Even if they are thinking of turning they still treat the boss with respect.” “And this time?” “Nothing. Simon Tam sang like a drunk at a bar at closing time. Well, he tried to bullshit me for a while, but I called him on it. He didn’t pull the ‘innocent man’ thing, either. He admitted to a couple of crimes. But not on the scale we thought. Instead he told me a most interesting story. And the mercs with him – they didn’t have the high opinion – or even a modicum of fear – for him. Treated him like a gorram joke. The cues were all wrong.” “What was the story?” Sinclair asked, tightly. He sat on the short couch and composed himself to listen. That was one of Sinclair’s greatest strengths: he was a man of strong feeling, but he had to have all the information in order to act. It had been one of the things that had attracted Julian’s attention to him. Julian told Simon’s tale, as completely as possible. The academy, the escape, the flight into the wilderness – no diabolical plan for terrorism or insurrection, just two Coreworld kids who were lucky to be alive, out here in the territories. Two kids who happened in with a bad crowd, and then stumbled into this Imperial faction Tong. “She’s telepathic?” Sinclair asked, incredulously. “That’s such utter bullshit!” “No,” Julian said, shaking his head. “They all agreed on the basic story. There were variations due to individual perspectives, of course, but no significant inconsistencies. She was taken by the government and converted into a telepathic field agent.” “That’s such crap!” The younger man nearly shook with anger, not a natural expression for him. Julian swallowed before he continued. “Sinclair, you know the type of work we do. Not the skip-tracing and petty criminals, but the contract ops, the corporate stuff.” “Yes. It’s what pays the majority of our very substantial monthly expenditures. You have a point?” he demanded. “You know what’s possible. The kind of stuff they do.” He sighed and looked at him. “You remember the Hera job, and what we found. And the mess in that lab on Ariel. And the whole steaming pile of perversion on the Suri Madron – you know that’s going to get out eventually, and God help the Alliance if it does. And there’s no telling what other skeletons there are in the closet. “And it’s our job to keep them there. We get paid pretty damn well for it, too!” “Face it, we got into this business to be good guys, protect people from the bad guys, and uphold the values of human civilization. But I’m becoming more convinced every year that some of the people we are protecting are the bad guys. We’ve always been choosy about the jobs we took, because there were some that just didn’t measure up, ethically speaking. This is starting to be one. The chaps with the latex fetish, they ordered me to space the two mercs and discontinue interrogation of Tam. I didn’t do this to become an assassin.” “If you expect me to sit hear and listen to you get all philosophical . . . we started this company because we had the talent and the vision to recognize a need, and we filled it – to our profit, until now! Well, Julian, now the Hammer Group has lost more than half of its trained personnel and incurred substantial financial debt. It will be years before we’ll be clear, and we may just have to take some of those jobs you’ve been too morally fastidious to touch – either that, or we slide into receivership. Is that what you want?” he demanded. “No, no, of course not. But we got into this because we wanted to make a difference –” “YOU got into this because you wanted to make a difference!” Sinclair corrected sharply. “I got into this because of you!” “I know, I know,” Julian defended, wincing. That had been a point of contention in their relationship: Sinclair had had a promising career in the Alliance naval forces before he resigned his commission to join him and form the group. Had he remained, he’d likely be a commander by now, even captain, perhaps. “I’m not suggesting . . . Look: all I’m saying is that we may have been wrong, and we should consider that before we move forward.” “And . . . do what? Renege on our commitments? Put the Relentless up for hock? Destroy our sterling reputation? Or do we throw caution to the wind and go renegade? You have aspirations of piracy, perhaps? Because that’s going to be the only avenue available to us, should we default!” “We’ll work it out – and I haven’t made any decisions yet!” Julian defended. “I’m just saying – look, let’s both go down to the brig. You listen to them. If you still disagree with me after that, I’ll defer to your judgment. But I tell you now, no matter what we decide – together,” he qualified quickly – “I refuse to execute those two mercs out of hand. Period. I don’t care what the price of that is, I am not a cold-blooded murderer.” “Fine,” Sinclair snapped. “Let me get dressed, and we’ll talk to them. But I’m warning you –” “No promises,” countered Julian. “You listen. We decide.” “Fine,” Sinclair repeated, going to his closet and selecting his “captain’s uniform” – a dark blue outfit cut exactly like an Alliance uniform, except for the color and insignia. Julian sighed cautiously. Sinclair only got like this when he was prepared to be stubborn beyond reason. And arguing with him would only make him worse. Julian decided to change the subject – quickly – before the younger man could get even more entrenched. “Uh, have we heard from our friends in the armed forces?” “Yes,” Sinclair said, sharply. “We got a low-band gram ten minutes before I . . . came down here. Your buddy the Admiral is putting together an emergency task force. Three cruisers and a carrier, plus a dozen smaller ships. He’s billing it as a ‘counter piracy exercise’. He’ll be here in three days.” “I hope he’s in time,” Julian murmured, finishing his drink. “He will be. The Alliance is prompt. Let’s go.” Sinclair was still livid with him, he knew, but that was okay – he knew how to keep the younger man mollified. It would take a couple of days of careful soothing, but things would be fine. Eventually. They made their way down to the cramped brig, through dim corridors. Life was slowly returning to the ship as the reactor pumped more energy into the system, but until it had reached a higher carrying capacity most of the less-essential systems would be kept powered down. Julian nodded to the guard on duty – one of his men, he noted, not one of the mercenaries – and entered the cell block, Sinclair striding efficiently behind him. The prisoners were sitting around as prisoners do – at least they were well behaved. Plenty of his captures got rowdier the closer they got to their rendition, up to and including throwing feces like monkeys. Luckily this didn’t seem like a poop-throwing crowd. Well, maybe Cobb. “You folks ready to be straight with us?” he asked without preamble. Washburn looked up, not moving from her crouched position. She had been in the cell less than six hours, and had already perfected the prisoner’s stare. “Would it do us any good?” “Probably,” agreed Julian. “There were some issues about your stories I wanted to clear up.” “Like Doctor Dolittle here bein’ some sorta evil genius?” Cobb asked. “Hi-larious!” Julian looked back at Sinclair and raised his eyebrows. “I wanted to know about River. You all said she could . . . read minds. You all agree on that?” There were silent nods – Cobb’s was reluctant, but he did agree. “And . . . you all maintain that you were merely mercenaries, working for the Imperial Faction to recover that monstrosity out there?” “Technically,” Washburn said, “we were working for Lei Chin Yi. Johnny Lei. But his uncles got in the game before long, of necessity. Why are you asking all of this stuff?” she asked, head cocked inquisitively. “Bear with me,” Julian asked. “What was the primary reason for recovering the Sun Tzu?” “Treasure,” all three said at once. They looked at each other a moment. Cobb and Tam nodded to Washburn. She continued. “The boy’s great-great-grampa, or something, was an Emperor of Yuan. He stashed a treasure for his descendents. This was an acquisition scheme – nothing else. We were there for loot.” “I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that you went after the most powerful warship in history to collect a little loot,” Julian said, shaking his head. Washburn shrugged. “We did. Didn’t know it was a ship until we saw it. The Emperor wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details. We didn’t know all that equipment and armament was aboard. Most of it is junk, at this point. We were after the loot. A substantial amount, we were led to believe.” “That’s what you said, yes. And did you find any?” “That’s a big ship,” Jayne said fervently. “We walked for nigh on three days, and we only covered a cunt hair’s worth of it.” That earned him a sour look from Tam. Cobb ignored it. “We didn’t find much, no,” agreed Washburn. “But we weren’t the only ones searching. It is a big ship. Like to be cold stacks of cash down there somewheres.” “It was worth plenty, just in salvage,” Tam said, suspiciously. “You’re asking the wrong questions, here,” he observed. “We’ve already told you all of this. What’s going on?” “Bide. I’m nearly through. You fought in the war, didn’t you?” “I did,” Washburn agreed. “57th Overlanders.” “I ain’t stupid,” scoffed Cobb. “Military life weren’t ‘zactly ideal for me. I got authority issues. And they don’t pay worth—” “I was in junior high school, learning how we were civilizing the heathens of the Rim,” Tam said, cautiously. “All of which is in our permanent records.” “Yes, so it was. And Malcolm Reynolds, he doesn’t answer to . . . you,” he said, inclining his head towards Tam. Tam laughed derisively. “He barely listens to me. No, Captain Malcolm Reynolds answers to no man. He’ll work for someone, but it’s strictly contract work. Surely you gentlemen can appreciate that.” “We are. Now what about the nukes on the Sun Tzu? You expect us to believe you didn’t know about those?” “What nukes?” asked Simon. “It was a warship, stupid,” Cobb said. “’Course they got nukes. Didn’t see none . . .” he admitted. “What do they look like, anyways?” “There were nukes,” Washburn agreed quietly. “We found an arsenal of them on the way to the Bridge. Like to be other nasty stuff on there, too. But that’s not why we were there. We were strictly a salvage operation.” “You . . . you’re trying to trick us, aren’t you?” Tam asked. “Trying to get us to contradict each other. Trip each other up. Honestly, we’re not that bright.” “I’m starting to suspect that,” agreed Julian. “Well, I think we’re done here, unless you have any questions, Captain,” he asked Sinclair. “Just one,” Sinclair said, clearly. “How did you incapacitate my ship?” “Oh, that,” Washburn said, choking back a laugh. “Yes,” Sinclair spat. “That.” “That was the Sanchez brothers,” she said, her eyes merry. “Don’t know the particulars. Software thing, I think. Nothin’ worse. ‘Parently, they was less than pleased with your attitude an’ demeanor when negotiating the cost o’ repairin’ this tub. Didn’t have time to do nothin’ worse. But they was mightily put out.” “And you’re certain that’s the extent of their sabotage?” “Not certain. But I’m pretty sure.” “It had better be. I will be the one . . . mightily put out if we have any additional issues before we reach the Outpost.” “Hate to break it to you, gentlemen,” Washburn said with a dry laugh. “We ain’t gonna make it to the Outpost.” “And you say that why?” demanded Sinclair, angrily. “I thought you said there wasn’t any other sabotage!” “There ain’t,” agreed Washburn. “But I ain’t speakin’ to that. Malcolm Reynolds will be mounting a rescue mission – only fair to warn you.” “Don’t hold your breath,” Sinclair spat. “Criminals aren’t known for their abundance of loyalty. Hope, if you must. But your ‘friends’ won’t come after you.” “You a bettin’ man?” Zoë Washburn asked evenly. “They got away – on a ‘treasure’ ship,” Sinclair pointed out. “A doomed treasure ship – the Alliance is already aware of the Sun Tzu, and is sending countermeasures sufficient to neutralize it. But they won’t stir themselves out of their greed to come for you. I’ve seen it a hundred times.” “You ain’t seen Malcolm Reynolds,” Washburn insisted. “He will come for us. And he won’t ever stop. He’ll track you. He’ll find you. He has plenty of contacts, and when Malcolm Reynolds sets his mind to somthin’, it gets done. Eight weeks we held Serenity Valley. Reynolds bleeds tenacity.” “The only thing I was even remotely worried about,” sneered Sinclair, “was a barrage of laser fire, EMP, or a missile salvo as we left the system. That didn’t occur. At this point, we’re four hours past the point where a Firefly class transport launched any time after we left Hecate could catch us. Two hours ago, we passed the point where a long-range interceptor could catch us. Face it, people: you’re all going to be bound by law and in Federal custody for a long time to come.” “She’s right, actually,” Tam interjected. “Reynolds is a madman. Psychotic. He’s an adrenaline junkie with a persecution complex and severe obsessive tendencies. He will come for us. He’ll probably get himself and the rest of the crew all killed in the process, but I admit that he’s pulled off some pretty unlikely stuff in the past.” “He’ll come. Won’t he, Jayne?” Washburn asked, her eyes focused on Julian. “Yeah, Cap’n’ll come,” the mercenary admitted wearily. “If he’d go back for the Doc an’ his crazy sister like he did, he damn sure ain’t gonna let a little thing like a warship stand in his way.” “You’re all delusional,” Sinclair said, shaking his head in amazement. Just then the ship shook slightly, and the lights dimmed, got brighter, and then dimmed again. Sinclair grabbed his phone. “Bridge, report!” “Is it more sabotage?” Tam asked nervously. “I had nothin’ to do with it,” vowed Jayne. “I been here the whole time!” “What the hell was that?” Julian asked, looking around concerned. Washburn continued to stare at him, her smile growing wider. “That, gentlemen,” she said softly, smiling “is our ride.” *

*

*

The men were in position all over the shuttle bay, behind crates and lying prone, their submachine-guns and automatic rifles held nervously in their hands. Julian glanced around to see if there were any stragglers, and, of course, he found a few. “Martin! Get your ass down! Ferndale, if I see that gorram big head of yours loom out from behind that pillar, I’ll shoot you myself!” he barked. The men shifted nervously in the flickering light. The burst of highly charged particles that the little ship had dumped in their wake had been unanticipated. Sinclair was still cursing himself about that – he stood proudly out of cover, looking splendid in his dress blues, a shiny silvered automatic in his fist. He had eschewed armor – his ship had been incapacitated twice in as many days, and he was livid. The artificial ion storm that the Firefly had caused had hit them at a vulnerable time. With full power still hours away, the Active EM shielding was erratic, at best. The radiation was mild, really, but persistant enough to shut down some essential systems – and bring them out of acceleration. That was bad enough, but Sinclair had had the gunners stand down from the few weapons that they had been able to bring online after they had crossed the point of pursuit. The Firefly had come in fast and at an oblique angle to their radar. They had not seen them until they were less than fifty miles out, and then it was too late. None of it made sense – they shouldn’t have been able to start that far behind and catch up, not in a rickety firefly. Julian didn’t know what witchcraft they had used to pull it off, but they had manage to defy the laws of physics. It had to be River Tam. Sinclair had tried to get a shot off at them, but their pilot was flying very close in. He had managed to raise them on the comm., but their only response to Sinclair’s frantic hail and dire threats was a brief cackle: “Arrgh! Prepare to be boarded!” and then some maniacal laughter. That didn’t bode well. When it became clear that the bandits did, indeed, intend to dock at the cargo lock, getting a double-sized assault squad into position was just the wise thing to do. “I take it you want to refrain from opening fire as soon as their lock is open?” Sinclair asked through gritted teeth. “I do,” Julian affirmed. “If they have River, then I don’t want to take a chance on harming her.” “Very well,” Sinclair muttered. “But for the record, I’m really feeling like killing someone about now.” “So noted,” agreed Julian. He didn’t share the feeling, however. He just wanted the whole episode behind them. There was a rough clank as the freighter slammed into the lock, perhaps just a little harder than necessary. “I think we have company.” The cargo lock was situated in between the two shuttle bays, a way to resupply the ship via third party if both shuttles were docked. Julian had men fanned out all over the bay, and had several in concealed positions, ready to play sniper on his command. There was a loud hiss as the pressures equalized, and then the inner lock door whined as it opened, revealing the rusted hulk of the freighter. “Get ready,” Julian murmured into the comm. headset. “On my command – no other.” The Firefly’s cargo hatch whined open, albeit at a lower pitch than the lock door. It revealed the ship’s inner lock door – in which someone had stuck an aluminum pole with a white flag. Sinclair swore and started to raise his pistol. Julian laughed and put his arm on the other man’s wrist. “Just calm down. He was smart. I’ll respect his truce.” “It’s likely a ploy,” Sinclair said, nearly growling. “It’s a flag of truce. We parley. We decide later if we shoot them.” “Get on with it!” Julian gave one last chuckle and walked over to the flag. No large bombs or anything attached to it – it was a pole with a bedsheet on it. He looked up at the dirty glass port and tapped on it with his gun barrel. “All right, we’ll give you a chance to speak your piece. Truce.” The inner doors slid open. The dim, hard fluorescents in the dingy freighter barely illuminated the interior, but Julian could see three separate shadows. The nearest held another pole with another sheet. It proved to be Malcolm Reynolds, his rebellious browncoat slung open, pistol ready, one hip thrown out arrogantly. On the far side of the bay, a tired looking fellow in a blue flightsuit was holding a nasty-looking automatic carbine, and had a shotgun slung over one shoulder and pistols and knives strapped haphazardly all over his body. That had to be the other Washburn. In the center, a curvy figure crouched on a crate. If she had a weapon, Julian couldn’t see it – just a comm. unit in one hand and a big cheerful smile. He blinked when she waved, like she would to a neighbor on her way to the market. These people were weird, he reminded himself. Have to watch out for that. “I don’t see River Tam,” he said, without preamble. “I don’t see the nine naked dancing girls I expected, either,” Reynolds said in an irritatingly casual drawl. “Looks like we’ll both have to learn to live with the disappointment.” “You’re here to deal, so deal. Give me Tam. I’ll give you Washburn and Cobb.” “And not the doc?” Reynolds said with mock surprise. “Can’t have that, now. Folk might be needin’ a doctor afore long.” “You have a Shepherd,” reminded Julian, grimly. “You’ll likely need him first.” “Wow, this is first-class he-man pissn’-contest machismo!” the girl on the box said happily. “Will there be chest thumpin’? And don’t forget the big dick contest! Lookin’ forward to that!” Julian blushed despite himself, and Reynolds rolled his eyes in embarrassment, then let out a sigh. “Excuse her, this is her first hostage negotiation.” “Third!” the girl corrected. Kaywinnet Frye. That’s who she was. ‘Kaylee’, the ship’s mechanic. Seemed like a nice girl. “Anyways, she’s still a novice. She does, however, make a fine point: I’m here to deal, and I think we can skip the circle-and-sniff and get right to the haggle. You with me?” “Agreed,” Julian nodded. “For what it’s worth.” “Aww!” Frye said, pouting. “I wanted to see more struttin’!” “Stow it, Frye!” Reynolds said, annoyed. “All right, you said at our last little meeting that you were a businessman. That’s why I let you walk, you know, because you said you were a businessman and not a fanatic. Because being a fanatic right now might go down poorly, in a historical sense. But bein’ a businessman . . . well, that could be all kinds of shiny.” “I’m listening.” “You got my folk. I want ‘em back. I imagine that they represent a substantial financial reward for you – which is why you came after them in the first place. With me?” “Keep talking,” Julian said, slowly. “I got me what I call a carrot and stick approach,” Reynolds explained. “Let’s talk carrot. How much are you clearing on Simon?” “I . . . I think we’re getting in the neighborhood of two or three million,” he said, casually. “Really?” Reynolds said, surprised. “So much for him bein’ worthless. Well sir, here’s my carrot,” he said, walking to the crate where Kaylee sat, and pulled back the tarpaulin. “Forty four million credits worth of three shiny nines of platinum,” he pronounced. “Go ahead and scan it – you know you want to.” “We’ll . . . get to that,” agreed Julian, his mouth suddenly dry. “Let’s just assume you’re dealing honest for the sake of argument.” “A wise decision. So here’s how it’s gonna play out. Forty-four million. I take all three of my people and leave. We don’t ever lay eyes on each other again.” “That’s a pretty big carrot,” Julian said. He could feel Sinclair’s excitement over the pile. He was already calculating what they could do with it. But there was still the issue of Tam . . . “So, what’s to stop me from killing all three of you and taking the loot AND Tam?” he asked. “Two things,” Reynolds said, without hesitation. “River said you wouldn’t – said you were a man of honor. By now you’ve wrung the carefully guarded secret that River is a reader.” “Oh, they sang like birds. Saving the lady,” he corrected. “Figured as much. River read you and said you wouldn’t go back on your word, so I’m invoking that – and hoping mightily you ain’t inclined to make an exception, just this once.” “You’re still alive, aren’t you?” he asked. “Fair enough. The other reason is my stick. Show ‘em the stick, Kaylee,” he ordered. The mechanic held up the comm. link and grinned. “I get to be the stick!” “Unless that summons a magickal ass-kicking jinn, I’d say I’m unimpressed.” “Oh, but you should be impressed,” Reynolds disagreed. “It was your idea.” “What?” “Kaylee’s got her pretty little thumb on a big red button up there. A dead man switch. She let’s go . . . we’re all gonna get a really fast tan. We borrowed a nuke, y’see, from the friendly folk over at the Empire. Complete with activation cards and everything. And Miss Smarty Pants up on that big-ass pile o’ money rigged it up, just like Master Lei said you did.” “My ship can take a nuke,” Sinclair said, stiffly. “Oh, sure,” agreed Reynolds. “Y’all got hull armor to military spec. But it don’t help none,” he said, grinning, “when the nuke is under that armor. Stick, Wash,” he ordered. The pilot scowled and kicked another tarpaulin off another, much smaller shape. Underneath was a small oval-shaped capsule that Julian recalled, with a certain amount of horror, from the atomic arsenal aboard the Sun Tzu. Julian swallowed. “You make a compelling argument. You really ready to blow us all up?” “Naw,” Reynolds said, with a chuckle. “That only works if Kaylee’s dead – and in that case, you best pray the nuke blast hits you afore I do. But it does keep you honest. Gimme my people. Take this money. And leave us alone.” Julian nodded. “Allow me to consult with my partner?” “Just take the money and give me back my gorram wife!” bellowed the pilot angrily. “My folk are impatient,” apologized Reynolds. “You say your piece. I ain’t in a hurry.” “Thanks.” He turned to Sinclair and had a heated debate, at whisper level, about the situation. “What do you think?” “I think forty four million would get us out of hock and fund the best office Christmas party, ever,” the younger man said. “I still want to kill someone, though.” “But . . . give up a bounty? We’ve never done that before.” “We’ve never been offered that kind of money, either,” countered Sinclair. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but I’m willing to overlook professional ethics on this one.” “I don’t know . . .” “You didn’t want to kill the mercs – now you don’t have to. You thought maybe Tam got a raw deal – now it won’t be your problem. We didn’t accept any money up front, so we don’t owe them anything. And we have some significant bills to pay, now. We can cover everything with that, Julian, with plenty left over to retire with! We could go to that moon, Epiphany, buy one of those pretty little islands. A shack on the beach, a couple of servants . . . I don’t like dickering with the likes of them, but he’s right: we’re businessmen. We take a bounty, we get paid. We’re just getting paid a little more than usual, this time, and by a third party.” “Oh, you’re just full of justifications, aren’t you?” he accused. “It’s a whole lot of money, Jules. And . . . they do have that nuke. That has me concerned.” “Me, too,” agreed the older man. “We must neutralize that.” “What’s your cop’s intuition telling you about this guy?” Sinclair asked, nodding to where Reynolds was standing, patiently. “Well . . . I take him at face-value. He could have sold out the Tams long ago. He’s loyal. And he did let us go when he could have put us in dire straits. That speaks to his favor.” “Then let’s do this,” Sinclair pleaded. “Let’s end it. End it with the big payoff, a rainmaker.” “You’re sure?” “Yes!” “All right.” He looked back at Reynolds. “All right. We’ll take the carrot. Providing it’s legit.” “Straight from the Imperial Vaults,” Reynolds assured. “Get your scanner set up – and try not to spook my engineer, will you? She sneezes, we wont have much time to say ‘bless you’. And while you’re doing that, go ahead and get my people up here.” Reynolds looked relaxed and calm, far calmer than a man in a hostage negotiation had a right to be. Perhaps Tam was right: maybe he was crazy. Julian shook his head, while Sinclair barked orders about the scanner and the prisoners. In all of his years, he’d never seen a criminal gang actually pay out that much for . . . well, Tam’s use as a surgeon aside, the three made up maybe two and a half good fighters. They type you could get for twenty thousand a year on most worlds. To pay forty-four million for them . . . “It’s legit,” the technician who had started scanning – under Hoban Washburn’s watchful eye and menacing carbine – said. “It’s legit! Three nines fine, pure platinum bullion!” he said with excitement as well as reverence. About that time the three prisoners were escorted up, hands bound behind them. All three broke out in a grin when they saw Reynolds and the rest of the gang. “You all right, sweetheart?” Washburn asked his wife, his tone anxious and nervous. “They hurt you? ‘Cause if they did—” he said, trailing off while brandishing his weapon. “I’m fine, husband,” Zoe Washburn assured. “Good to see you!” “Gorram shiny to lay eyes on you, too,” her husband replied. “Jayne? Doc? You hale?” asked Reynolds. “Doc kinda hit on me in the cell, but I survived with my virtue intact,” Cobb called back. “I’ve got infinitely better taste than that!” protested the doctor, who seemed relieved beyond belief. “Fine, we’ll catch up on old times anon. But let’s make this deal. You happy with it, Martel?” Julian glanced back at Sinclair, who was holding the sample ingot of platinum that had been scanned. He looked up, eyebrows raised appreciatively, and nodded. “We’re good. Except for one minor detail,” he added. “And that would be . . . ?” Reynolds asked. “You folk are Browncoats. Some of you, at any rate. I’m not over abundantly political, myself, but I’ve sworn a few oaths in regards to the Alliance, about all foes, foreign and domestic,” he began. “Heh,” Zoe Washburn said, rubbing her wrists after the guard released her restraints. “With Universal Sovereignty, there ain’t no such animal as ‘foreign’ no more,” she said, more than a trace of bitterness in her voice. “Like I said, I’m not political. You can believe whatever you want, for all I care. But I can’t let a gang of criminals like yourselves keep that nuke. Not criminals who have already taken up arms against the Alliance once. Throw that in, you have a deal.” “Martel, I just gave you forty four million credits,” Reynolds said – which earned wide-eyed looks of astonishment from the prisoners. “You can buy your own gorram nukes!” “I don’t need a nuke,” Julian said with frustration. “I just don’t want you to have it.” “I said you could buy your own. This one’s for sale,” Reynolds said. He walked over to the pallet of platinum to which two Hammerstrike men were attaching a pallet jack. He lifted the edge of the tarp and took three ingots off the stack. “Sold.” “Then we got a deal,” Julian said. He didn’t mind the loss – cost of doing business, and cheap if it meant no more killing. “Take your folk and get the hell of my ship. And I ever lay eyes on you again . . .” “We’ll slap some leather and see who’s luckier that day, I know,” Reynolds agreed as Washburn, Tam, and Cobb walked gingerly up the Firefly’s ramp. Washburn went right to her husband, of course, who took her in one arm while he kept his carbine at the ready. He did spare enough attention for one deep, long kiss. Cobb picked up a weapon from Reynolds, and the engineer girl hung crazily from Doc Tam’s neck, grinning broadly. There was apparently some feeling there, he guessed. A pity – he had thought the young man sly. “Come and get your bomb,” Reynolds said, as the pallet of treasure left his ship. There was a wistful note in his voice. “I ain’t partial to the things, myself – glad to be rid of it.” Julian nodded, and four of his men lumbered forward and carefully carried the egg-shaped container into the cargo hold. They needn’t have been so cautious – atomic weapons were quite durable, and even after a century or so this one should be quite stable. Still, he could appreciate their anxiety. No one wants to screw with a nuke, if they can help it. “The dead man?” he asked. Reynolds nodded and pried it out of the engineer’s fingers. “Wash, heat ‘er up. Kaylee, get ‘er hummin’. The moment we got full power, I’ll toss it to you. Not that we ain’t the trustin’ sort . . .” he said as the pilot and the engineer scurried off, Washburn handing his carbine to the doctor, who held it awkwardly. Zoe Washburn took it from him and nodded for him to stand back. Then she held it like the soldier she was. “Do what you have to do,” agreed Julian. “Does it have a delay?” “Thirty seconds,” acknowledged Reynolds. “But I won’t leave it active. I’m a scoundrel of my word.” “So I see. You’re good, Reynolds. Had us going every which way, there, for a while. If I wasn’t so damn pissed off right now, I’d be willing to flatter you about it.” “Martel,” Reynolds nodded, “if it makes you feel any better, you’ve come closer than anyone but Jubal Early. And he didn’t come out of the deal near as fortunate as y’all. I’d say its been a pleasure, but considerin’ I ‘m walkin’ away from that kind of coin, well, can’t rightly say it is. Has been interestin’, though. Enjoy your wealth, boys,” he said as the whine of the thrusters accelerated. “Remember, money is the root of all evil.” He tossed the radio to Julian, who caught it in one hand. “No, actually,” Julian said as the Firefly’s cargo door started to close. “The quote is, ‘the love of money is the root of all evil.’ If you have love, money’s just somethin’ to spend it on.” “I stand corrected,” Reynolds nodded as the lock sealed. The Relentless’ outer lock closed over it, and in seconds the decrepit old freighter was gone. “Dismissed,” Julian called tiredly, although the men failed to disperse as quickly as they usually did. Something about a big gorram pile of platinum made them linger. “Well,” Sinclair said, “I’m feeling less inclined to kill anyone.” “That’s good news, considering where I sleep.” “We’re rich,” Sinclair admitted. He broke into a wide smile. “We’re gorram wealthy!” “Yes, yes we are,” Julian agreed. “Are you happy?” Sinclair caressed the cold, shiny ingots and sighed. “I have my own ship, a fortune, and the man of my dreams. How could I be unhappy?” “I’m glad. No one is shooting at us, so I’m happy, too. Let’s get to the outpost, pay everyone off, refuel, and have a nice long holiday. Sound good?” “Darling,” Sinclair grinned widely, “Nothing could sound any better!”