The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Ninety

“Well, whatdyaknow?” Wash said to himself with a grin as the comm. console beeped pleasantly. “We got cortex back! Kinda,” he added, as he saw the link was tenuous – not enough for full audio-visual real time communication, but enough for a third tier navigation link and data exchange. He punched in Serenity’s access code to establish the link, and saw the welcome screen for Kosmocom Corp. – the owner of the relay – pop up. Unsurprisingly, there were several pending waves for the crew and passengers – Serenity had been off-the-grid for weeks. Wash clapped his hands with glee as he saw a few for himself – the usual threatening letters from his student loan office, a notification that his piloting credentials were three years out of date, and something else, something unusual . . . “Greetings, Travelers!” he said cheerfully into the intercom. “We’re not back in civilization, yet, but we’re within shoutin’ distance! Just made the link with Kosmocom, synched up, and guess what? You’ve got mail! Check your local terminal for specifics, and happy reading!” With that, he deleted the student loan and piloting messages, unread. At this point he could quote both of them verbatim, he had read them so often. But that last one, that was new. He settled back and activated it, wondering what the heck Mr. Universe could possibly want with him . . .

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“. . . wanted to drop you a line and let you know about our new satellite location, amigo,” the smooth Latin voice of Jorge Sanchez came from the monitor. Mal was in his quarters when Wash’s message came across, and had wasted no time in checking his mail. There were several waves from business associates and friends, sometimes both. He had been surprised at the wave from Madonna, and worried, at first, that their friends’ little trick with the Relentless had reaped unfortunate consequences. But Jorge’s suave grin betrayed nothing but good news. “My cousin Mannie is opening a shop on Boros, with my cousin Alfonso. So now there will be two Sanchez Brothers’ shops! I’m gonna head out there for a few months, get them set up – but Mannie was always the smartest of my uncle Julio’s hijos, so I think in the future you and Serenity will find good haven there. He’s also got a sideline in . . . previously owned merchandise, and plenty of excellent contacts with the local demimonde. “Hope all is well with you, Don Mal, and I wanted to thank you for sharing that . . . pachyderm phallus with us. I’ve made quite a profit on it, but Maria, she will not come near me now for fear . . .”

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“I think I’ve finally caught up on sleep,” Kaylee said with a yawn. “Not that I couldn’t nap, of course. But it’s been nice, only doin’ regular maintenance, and just on the girl, not some shiny antique.” “Is that coffee?” Simon asked, blearily. “I thought I smelled coffee.” “Yep, fresh pot. Almost done with the good stuff, so enjoy it while it lasts.” “Brilliant,” Simon sighed. “I was dreaming that I was trapped in a cell with Jayne and Zoe, and Jayne was wearing the most elegant pink taffeta gown . . .” “You . . . maybe you should lay off th’ booze before night-night?” “I didn’t have anything to drink last night,” Simon admitted as he poured a cup of steaming liquid consciousness. “Um . . . maybe you should start, then?” “It’s a thought. The gown wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was later, when I was being interrogated by the Washburns – nude – and how Zoe kept demanding that I tell them my evil plan for impregnating Jayne and raising an army of telepathic mercenaries to overthrow the Alliance, and Wash kept asking if it was true I . . . well, it got a little confusing there after that.” “Yep. I’ll bring by a bottle of my special stuff later,” Kaylee said, her eyes wide. “Greetings, Travelers!” Wash’s entirely-too-peppy voice rang out through the kitchen, making Simon wince. “We’re not back in civilization, yet, but we’re within shouting distance! Just made the link with Kosmocom, synched up, and guess what? You’ve got mail! Check your local terminal for specifics, and happy reading!” “Mail!” Kaylee squealed – to Simon’s dismay – as she ran to the terminal. “Maybe somethin’ from Pa?” She scanned the list and clapped happily. “Two! And one from my . . . hey, Simon!” she said, looking up at him. “There’s one for you!” “Me?” Simon asked, confused. “Um, I’m underground, fleeing for my life and being chased by Interpol, bounty hunters, the Alliance, and the bloody Boy Scouts, for all I know. And someone sends me mail?” “Well, it’s addressed to ‘Chief Medical Officer, Serenity’. That’s you, ain’t it?” “Guilty,” Simon admitted. “For once. Who’s it from?” “The McKlintocks! Did Winnie have her baby?” “I hope not,” Simon said, alarmed. “It would be dangerously premature.” “Um, I’m gonna take mine in my bunk. You use this one. Oh, and here’s a strange one: to the ‘Littoral Supercargo Manager’, from the Ave Imperator Data Collection and Execution Corporation, Whiteside. Who the hell is that?” Simon’s brain produced the answer with a sense of amusement. “It’s for River. ‘Littoral’ is an archaic term for anything dealing with rivers and streams. River is, I suppose, supercargo. And it must be from the Imperials – Colonel Campbell, if I’m not mistaken: Ave Imperator is Latin for ‘hail, Emperor’, and ‘data collection and execution’ is what military intelligence does. So it’s for River, from Campbell.” “You’re so gosh darn smart you make my nipples hard,” Kaylee said with a sigh. “I’m . . . so unprepared to respond to that that I’m going to pretend I was too tired to hear it.” “Sure thing, Doc,” Kaylee agreed. “Happy reading,” she said, and left for her bunk. Simon set his cup down next to the monitor and keyed up his message. It was from Heather MacKlintock. Fourteen years old and a face thick with freckles. Her data pad was in front of her, and she looked as eager as she did serious. “Doctor . . . Mom and Mom say that I shouldn’t use your name, so I’ll call you ‘Doctor Teacher’, ‘cause you’re a doctor an’ you’re my teacher. So, Doctor Teacher, I wanted to send you a wave an’ let you know I finished my list and I’m ready to take my test.” Simon, who was in the middle of a sip when she said it, nearly sprayed the monitor with coffee when she said it. He had given Heather McKlintock the rough equivalent of a year, maybe a year-and-a-half of secondary-level biology, physics and chemistry. There was no way she could be through it all in . . . a few weeks? A month? “Mama Winn quizzed me on everythin’, so I think I’m finally ready to take the tests. I did pretty good – pretty well,” she corrected, remembering Simon’s pet peeve, “at Elementary First Aid, Chem One, Cell Physiology, and Biology, okay at Physics – mama Althea helped me on that – an’ Basic Anatomy, but Calculus is a real,” she glanced around nervously and leaned towards the screen, confidentially, “a real bitch, Doctor Teacher. I had to spend hours figurin’ it out – it ain’t so easy, you gotta be able to think it, afore you do it, you get my meanin’. Kinda lookin’ forward to Chem Two, so I can get into Organic – I think I’m gonna like that!” Simon grimaced. Organic chemistry was not an easy subject for anyone, and had caused more than one of his college contemporaries to seriously consider a career in law or politics, instead. But beyond that, he was astonished. If she was serious – and his experience with Heather made him think she was always serious, he had never seen her try to fib about anything – then she had whipped through two semesters of school in a few weeks. He didn’t think it was possible – but Winny wouldn’t have let her send the wave if she hadn’t done it. “You also said I should keep track of any medical procedures I might observe,” she said, addressing her data pad with seriousness. “I got, lessee, four lacerations, dressed and tended, one required stitches! Tinker didn’t duck quick ‘nuff when he was pullin’ a console cover off, caught ‘im, upside the head. Two bouts o’ common cold among the young’uns, I got to do a scan on mama Winn’s tumm—uterus,” she finished, relishing the anatomical term. “I dispensed four doses o’ anti-diarrheals to Unka Devon, on account o’ some bad chili on Bendy Station, which he shoulda known he couldn’t handle but does he listen? No! I also gave Rowan an enema for . . . irregularity, an’ dispensed a gracious plenty of ibuprofen with mood regulators – she ain’t purty when her monthlies come. Ick.” Simon had to smile at that. Rowan was a real firecracker – her flight call-sign was ‘Dynamite’, after all. That she didn’t menstruate gently surprised him not at all. “Anyway, oh – I dispensed seventeen immunoboosters an’ inoculations for planetary landing as per Alliance Medical Epidemiological Report, broken down for particular planet. I got to list my name as ‘attendin’ ship’s medic’ on the form an’ everythin’!” she said gleefully. Simon smiled a little more at that. AMERs were only one of the four million or so – or so it seemed – forms a ship’s medic had to fill out. Simon had scrawled “Dr. E. Ternal X. Isle” in nearly illegible handwriting across what forms he was forced to sign, a sense of bitter satisfaction haunting his hand. No one ever read the forms. But they had to be filed. Heather’s first joyful foray into the nightmarish hell of eternal medical bureaucracy would soon sour. But he appreciated the effect the legitimizing authority of paperwork had had on her. She was official, now. She had a job. She had a trade. And he was her tradesmaster. That thought troubled him. It was only now that the full impact of what he had committed to started to occur to him. He was not only a master of a trade, passing on his knowledge to an apprentice – he was loosing a new doctor on the ‘verse. A doctor who would eventually hold the lives of human beings in her hands – a doctor who would, unfortunately, kill patients occasionally. He had dealt with med students while in residency, and had always felt that they were a particularly dim lot (with a few smartass exceptions) but he had never taken his teaching particularly seriously – if the kids humped up, it was the MedAcad’s rutting fault, not his. But this thing with Heather . . . there was no MedAcad. No faculty of tenured educators, no efficient staff, no departments, no support staff, no other expert . . . than him. Dr. Simon Tam. Former Member Osiris College of Surgeons. Just him. Heather’s monolog continued as he contemplated his commitment and the heady responsibility he bore. “Mama Win’s doin’ just great, as long as Daddy ain’t in the room, an’ everyone else is hale. So I can’t wait for your tests, an’ your next book list. Y’know somethin’, Dr. Ta—Dr. Teacher? I think I like physickin’. Beats all hell outa doin’ the books, like Brian. And it beats Potty Detail any way you care to see it. Thanks for your help. Heather MacKlintock, signing off.” Simon slumped back in the kitchen chair amazed at the spirit and the pace the teenager was setting. He remembered his own struggles with difficult subjects, and he wondered if it was the lack of a real academic peer group to compete against that allowed Heather to fly through those subjects. By historical standards, she now had more medical knowledge than most of the practicing physicians who had ever lived – and she was doing extraordinary even by Coreworld standards. He shook his head as he formulated a response. It was almost soothing to come up with recommended texts and supplementary materials after the Sun Tzu. And, for the first time in a while, he felt as if he was doing something other than running for his life and hiding, something . . . positive for the ‘verse. It was a good feeling.

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“ . . . when I received the news from my solicitor: an anonymous source, he said, who had donated a substantial sum,” the elegant older woman, perfectly and tastefully dressed, said from the monitor. She was Sheydra, a Companion and friend from years before. She would have been at least a Senior Sister at one of the Houses the guild maintained in the Core – but she had wrested permission to become superintendent of a training house on one of the border moons. She had asked for Inara’s assistance in that, mostly by writing a letter explaining the need to the Guild Council, but Inara hadn’t thought, at the time, that they would approve. They certainly wouldn’t have back when she worked the Core. Past a certain point, the guild just ignored a Companion that strayed too far out into the Rim. Now their attitude was adjusting – in a beneficial way, for once. “I was thrilled, of course, and it isn’t all that unusual – clients are always giving us little gifts in appreciation, or as an effort to curry favors. But this was unusual – it didn’t come from a registered client, we discovered after some digging, but from the wife of some Rim businessman – she said she had been trained as a Companion before marriage, but I never found any record of her. “In any case, she donated a substantial sum to my effort. We were able to secure a beautiful old Buddhist monastery in the mountains here, two years ago, as a Training House. It really is lovely, if a little run-down, and built in the most gorgeous Late Restoration architecture. The garden is amazing! It’s springtime here, now, and everything is the most vibrant green! We were able to attract a good class of hopefuls this year. Twice what we did last year, about fifty girls, but only thirty of them were wealthy enough to afford tuition. “That was when this mysterious benefactor stepped in. She had already agreed to fund the performance chamber we’ll need to build – she directed that we call it the La Belle d’Astra Auditorium,” she said, making Inara blush in spite of herself, “but when she heard about the girls who couldn’t make tuition, she stepped forward and paid for all of them – for their whole training period. Then she set up an endowment for future students with similar circumstances, the Elaine Hecate Fund. Strange. But she said she had you to thank, so I thought I send this to your last known contact and see what you knew about it.” Inara got teary, but Sheydra’s image continued speaking. “Not that I’d turn her down – we don’t have a pool of alumni yet to provide for such things – but I’d like to know the story – and there has to be a story. “Look, if you ever get by our little neighborhood, I’d love for you to stop by and see the place. We’re brand new, of course, with plenty of rough edges, but the girls are wonderful. I just wish we had more faculty – I was able to convince a few from the other houses, but we’re still shy a music master, a calligrapher, and an archery master, among many, many others. So feel free to drop by, mei mei, and let us know where we need improvement . . .”

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“ . . . were pretty hectic there for a while,” the sonorous voice of Brother Cyril said from the screen. “It turned into a nasty little war. We had to form a kind of committee of all the major temples – a vigilance committee, as it turned out. The Yellow Ribbon started being unpleasantly heavy-handed, threatening our parishioners and robbing the offerings. It even came to blows a few times. That wasn’t too bad, and we were able to push back in some uncomfortable ways. “But this Tortoise fella, he wouldn’t back off. Put a real mean heathen on our case with orders to make us submit. So we organized the people and staged a boycott of his brothels and illicit casinos. We sold out his drug dealers, had his fences busted. We thought that would be enough to warn him off the Street of Temples, but some men are too stupid to read the words on the page. He tried to go after the Buddhists – I suppose he figured that a pacifistic religion would be an easier target. Well, let’s just say that one or two or six of the monks at the temple may have some serious penance to do after that, and a few gangsters will have some serious healing to do – in prison. “The committee decided we couldn’t put up with another scrap, so after that we staged a raid on one of their offices, broke open a vault, distributed about twenty thousand in script to the poorest of our parishioners, and then carefully and deliberately burned the place to the ground. “Company security intervened after that, but no one else got hurt, until this last attack. He came after the Mission House, tried to burn it down. I wasn’t about to allow that to happen, not after all we went through to get it built. But we came through it fine, and without much damage, and most of the gangsters are in custody now. Looks like I still remember how to bust heads despite years of re-training. I’ve plenty of penance to do myself.. But I thought you’d appreciate a wave about our progress. “I also wanted to know if, in your travels, you ever had occasion to visit a little shit-hole called Haven, a mining colony. I got a few of our local boys there seeking their fortune, and by all accounts it’s a wild kind of place. If you could look in on ‘em, I’d be much obliged. If I could, Book, I’d send a mission there to straighten them out – they’ve had to erect arms to keep the raiders at bay, and even the miners can’t seem to go a night without a brawl breaking out. Not a family place, but there are plenty of families there. Captures I saw made Meridian City look like Apex by comparison – it’s that bad. But if you got the chance to take a peek on them anytime, I’d feel much better about it . . .”

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“. . . thought you would appreciate hearing that I’ve healed up nicely, my lovely, and the repairs to the village are coming along quickly. The Archon is up for re-election, and the ring pirate raids have become an issue. That little bistro where we ate is open again, and we’ve even attracted a few more artists, despite all of the negative publicity. “I just don’t want you to worry. That was an unfortunate, tragic thing, the attack, and I know you blame yourself. I’m telling you not to. You didn’t make those men do what they did . . . and a lot more people would have died if your friends hadn’t made a timely entrance. Goodness, I’m still excited by the thought – more excited than I’ve been about anything for years! I’m starting to put together notes for a new work. I’ll send you a draft when I get that far, but I was so impressed with your poise and your quick wits . . . and I wasn’t the only one. “The village council voted to rebuild the temple, only this time they’re putting up a ten-foot bronze of Artemis, with her bow slung protectively over one shoulder. The girl who’s doing it was in the temple with us that horrible night, and she was very impressed by the figure you cut . . . so I lent her some captures of you I have, and she’s using you as the model for the statue! “A ten-foot bronze of my little Inara, where I can see it every day . . . oh, and she decided to go for some balance in the composition, and so with the council’s permission she’s including a reclined figure of Orion clutching at her knees, one that looks suspiciously like our benefactor, Captain Reynolds. “While most of the ladies in the town aren’t geared towards menfolk, it was widely agreed that he did have a certain aesthetic appeal, artistically speaking, and he did perform the rescue, so I hope you don’t mind if we borrowed his face and figure for a our little tribute – it’s the least we could do, considering what he and your crew did for us. I have it on good authority that a small but vocal minority wanted that crude mercenary as the model, or that nice young Sinic boy, but the overwhelming majority chose the Captain. “They can say it was an aesthetic choice all they want, but there was something just so heterosexually endearing in that kiss you two shared . . . and, parenthetically, there were several members who were positively enchanted by watching his ass peek out from under that toga. I suppose not all of us are as . . . single minded as we think . . .”

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“. . . Washie, boy, and I don’t think either of us – dear, I’m talking, that tickles! – and I don’t think either of us will forget either your kind appearance at my engagement party – or your abrupt departure. I was tempted to be miffed until I reviewed the violence . . . you people are great, you know that? Swooping in like avenging falcons, sending in the troops guns blazing, and that part where the ladies ripped that gorram bandit apart – oh, I’ve watched it over and over! Please, please, please, please please please PLEASE send me more stuff like that! I’ve searched around and found a few choice bits of blood and gore from Serenity’s noble crew, and me likee! “I also wanted to ask you about this report I pulled from the MilIntelNet, encrypted nine different ways super-secret-die-after-reading report – which took me less time to crack than it did to say – on some ship-to-ship action a few days ago, three whole fleet elements converging on the vicinity of Hecate’s poor lost world. I wondered if you knew something about that? Details were sketchy – damn Alliance spooks don’t trust anyone, the poor cynical souls, like anyone but me and God are even curious about such things – but they said they encountered a single ship, engaged it in battle, destroyed it, and combed the system for ‘other illegal elements’ – the debris field described was WAY bigger than your little Firefly could make, so I’m assuming you’re still alive. Just curious if you knew what was happening? I’d love some captures, if you got ‘em. Oh, I’ll eventually mine the Signal for snappys and talkies, but – Lenore, stop that! – but I always appreciate the candid feel of an amateur capture to the military’s artistic interpretation – those people have no imagination. “Oh, and another thing: Wash, I didn’t want to have to be the one to tell you this – and I feel really embarrassed about this for you – but when we were at Athens with fatted calf and slave girls, I caught someone in your party making unmistakable signals that they had an interest in my bulging brain and sleek good looks.” He looked guilty, and smug, at the same time, and shook his head in resolution. “I just need to say it. It’s Zoë, man. She wants me. She wants me bad. Lenore’s only a little jealous, and might even go for it, but I gave her a firm negatory on that one, even though it would be a screw for the ages. I just won’t do that to a friend, Wash . . .”

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* “ . . . Inara, my dear, positively brilliant! I thought I was happy with her before, but now I’m in love all over again. I don’t know exactly what your methods are, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re an enchantress! My precious bride has never been so responsive, and I like to flatter myself that she sees me in a more alluring light as well. “My god, woman, you are a gorgeous dream, a Goddess among Companions. If I wasn’t so happily married right now, I’d buy out your contract for the rest of your life and gladly submit myself to your every whim. “Except, perhaps, in business. I’m not one to criticize, my dear, but I looked into the Epiphany venture more closely – oh, all right, I had some of my people look into it – and I have to say that I have to concur with the Ginger group. It’s a lovely place, I’m sure, and I might even holiday there one day. My precious does like the beach, and I can deny her nothing since you left! “But as a business investment, no, I don’t think it’s an opportune time to make a move. The moon’s certification just got underway, after all, and I hear rumors that there are problems with some of the data. Not to mention some issues with the underclass. And it’s so remote . . . well, maybe I’ll check back in a few years, after they get some of the kinks worked out of the place. No one wants to be the first to buy, after all, and there’s been a considerable lack of interest in such things the last few weeks. “You see, someone has liquidated a private collection, a veritable Louver of Earth-That-Was art – and not the cheap stuff, either! Strictly hush-hush – must be someone’s estate – but we haven’t seen this kind of merchandise since before that pesky war! Everyone’s all a-titter about it. Monjaour bought two wonderful Van Goghs – the real things, the bastard! And I, myself, have a rather substantial bid on a Constable. That’s right, a real, oil-on-canvas masterpiece. It’s a lot of money, but as investments go, I couldn’t do better! You simply must come and see it, when I have acquired it – and I don’t care how much I have to pay, I will not let some upstart Company aristocrat possess something like that – there’s no way someone like that could appreciate it properly. I viewed it myself, and it’s exquisite, absolutely exquisite – almost as pretty as you are, in fact . . .”

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“ . . . the Empire sure is treatin’ me right, Miss River, and I felt it was only decent of me to send you a wave and report that fact. I’ll tell you what, we weren’t missing your sweet aroma on the Sun Tzu long afore all hell broke loose. The freighter they was expectin’ showed, an we spent two solid days loadin’ up and settin’ to rights. But we had company come callin’ soon enough, a whole fleet o’ Alliance ships, loaded for bear. But the Captain is ‘bout the smoothest man I ever laid eyes on, an’ with only three hours t’spare he booby-trapped the Revenge all up, and then took the Sun Tzu after you – down in the gas giant! The Revenge blew up and took a few purplebellies with her, but they had nary a clue we were lurking! We stayed down there for three days, until every last one o’ them purplebellies left. Then we broke cover and headed out. Don’t rightly know where we’re goin’, but I ‘spect they’ll tell us when we get there. “They’s workin’ me hard, especially General Campbell – sorry, Sir Nathaniel. He got me in a little class with three or so Chinamen, learnin’ all sorts o’ strange and twisty things. Spycraft, he calls it. We do a lot of trainin’, physical type stuff, and so I’m gettin’ plenty trim. But he’s also teachin’ me meditation, memory, codes, all sorts of strangeness. He says I got a good head on my shoulders, even if it do be empty most times, or thinkin’ o’ you and your sweet self. But he says an empty head can be filled, and he’s makin’ me read ‘bout everythin’ in sight! My eyes hurt nearly as much as my body, after a long day, but it don’t mean I can’t take a little moment to send a kind word to my intended. “Yes, Miss River, I know what you tol’ me. And I respect that – woman got to have her druthers, of course, and if that’s what you want, then, well, might as well suck it up and take the plunge. If I can do it, then we can do the happily-ever-after thing. If not, then I suppose God got some other plan for you. But I’ll try Miss River, I surely will, and if it is humanly possible, you can bet your boy Rel will find a way to do it . . .” *

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“ . . . it was the damndest thing, Mal. The transnuclear industry is pretty big here on Salisbury, I’m sure you know. We do some processing, act as a bourse, the whole deal – hell, who else is in a position to do it? Every six months that big ship comes in, and the local economy gets a big boost. Only not this time. “The bulk freighter came back from the station . . . empty. It appears some bandit group, maybe a tong, raided the station and took every ounce of derivative. That sent the price soaring, of course – we produce about twenty percent of the total output, here, and every ounce is spoken for long before it gets here. The price of most of the common derivatives went through the roof, and the exotics are still going up. “But that isn’t all – they not only stole the cargo, which no one ever thought could happen, but they took . . . the people. Every man, woman, and child. Cleaned the place right out. Interpol says it’s likely slavers, and some no-name terraformation project on the Rim just got a bumper crop of labor – over ten thousand of them. Locked the Alliance administrator and his staff in his quarters and just stole everything in sight. Amazing. Completely shut down production. It will be years before they recover from that, so I’m glad you just got your ship re-cored – it would be about twice as expensive now, and no end in sight! “But that’s not why I waved you. I was contacted by certain of your . . . uh, friends, friends with a taste for yellow and red fashion. It seems that you had referred them to me for the possible sale of some of their merchandise? I thought it was a joke until I saw their list. I’ve sold about a third of it, now – a third of the first batch, I should say – and because of the commissions I’m not filthy stinkin’ rich and considering retirement. Have to thank you for that. Before we’re done here, I’ll have more money than God, just thought you’d like to know. “But the good news is that I found a buyer for your Lassiter. Actually, your friends helped me with that. With so much Earth-That-Was merchandise coming to market, people aren’t being as careful with the providence as they might, and so I think I can sneak in a sale under the radar. I mean, when you have Renaissance masterpieces going for . . . well, ungodly amounts, then a little twenty-first century technological innovation, no matter how important or valuable, isn’t going to attract much attention. So here are the coordinates of a contact that can put you in touch with a man who has a big pile of cash waiting for you, when you can deliver. I think I’ll let the commission slide on this one, for old time’s sake . . .

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“. . . thank you so much for your visit, my dear, and your valiant efforts in trying to get the Ginger Group on board. But things, I’m afraid, are looking dire. There have been a number of irregularities in the terraformation data, according to the inspectors. My technical staff assures me that the data is flawed, somehow, but they can’t tell me where or how that came to happen – not unless every indentured field agent we have has been corrupted some how – we collect that data by hand. “If that wasn’t the worst of it, a nasty little war broke out in Meridian City a few weeks ago. A real riot, we had to send in security troops to keep order. Nothing, really. But the news made it back to the Core, and between that and the irregularities in the inspection process, shares in ECTC have fallen precipitously. I’m worth only about a third of what I was when you were here, and by the time I’m done with this wave, it’ll be even less. Oh, I have some funds socked away for emergencies – I won’t starve. But I might just be out of a job and having to pinch pennies, so my expensive dalliances with incredibly beautiful Companions will, alas, be few and far between. A pity. You showed such poise, such astonishing grace . . . I’m going to miss you, Inara. I cherish the thought of your last visit because it will be, alas, your last. I’m destined for an early and budget retirement. This project has taken just about everything, now. With all the idle rich in the Core being distracted by this big secret art auction, even my free promotional sales visits are down. At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we have enough capital to pay our Security people next month . . . and if they walk, the whole situation here cold get bad in a hurry. “I know you’re doing your part, I’ve gotten three or four bookings who mentioned you as a referral, but no one’s buying yet. And I dearly need them to. But even that won’t make a difference if we don’t get our Certification. I’ve got one coming in in a few days, all very hush hush, but he’ll be just like your friend Simon: interested, but not enough to spend money. “But I appreciate the effort, bao bei, and I dearly wish things could have gone differently. At this point, I’ve lost all enthusiasm for the work. I’m waving it in. I want desperately to be elsewhere, somewhere where everything I’ve worked for for a decade isn’t about to come crashing down around me . . .” *

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Mal stretched in his seat as the last wave faded from the monitor. He had a buyer for the Lassiter – that was good news and no mistake. Truth was, despite their recent windfall (or the clinging residue thereof, depending upon how you looked at it) after the split with the gang it was unlikely he’d have more coin to jingle than they’d gotten from their last illegitimate job. That had paid for a re-coring, but there was still plenty of maintenance and parts they needed – stuff was falling off of Serenity everyday. The long list of expenses washed over him. Fuel. Food. Port fees. Other consumables. Ammunition. Air. Water. Salary. Taxes – when he couldn’t avoid it. Bribes. A thousand kind of fees. And now he’d need to buy a new mule. It all added up. Every time he moved Serenity, it cost him coin. The old saying was true: a spaceship was a hole in the Black that you poured money into. He had two bars of platinum to split with everybody, and a hold full of interesting merchandise that he was sure he could find a market for here and there on the Rim – not to mention the profits from smuggling mastodon penises. If the few kilos of transnuclear derivatives he had bought at the station were really worth twice or three times what he’d paid for them, that would be another juicy windfall. But that still would only keep them in the sky a few more months, without another job. A few months wasn’t bad, all things considered. A lot could happen in a few months, good and bad. It all depended upon Lady Luck, his fickle mistress, coming through. And she had been awfully recalcitrant of late . . . Still, he had some profit. Not the fortune he’d given away, but all things considered, it wasn’t bad. It could take them to the coordinates where the Lassiter buyer was, and from there they should be able to find new work. No, it wasn’t bad, he decided as he kicked off his new boots and let down his braces. He had to stand watch in a half an hour, which gave him plenty of time for another catnap. He sprawled on his bunk – and then rolled over painfully. Reaching behind him he felt a familiar cold object, which he extracted from somewhere in the vicinity of his left kidney. He pulled it into view. It was another brick of platinum. Vaguely, he recalled snatching it off the pile when he had first returned from battle and falling asleep with it in his arms. He must have dropped it when Johnny woke him up that time, seeking his advice. Mal grinned to himself. That bar would keep them flying that much longer. And keep his crew happy with their cut. That would extend their leisure time a little more, he figured. But it would still disappear all too fast, and they’d be down and out, looking for a job, and not being picky about where they took them. And they had River on their side. He hadn’t fully appreciated what a boon her talent could be, being more concerned with her accidentally – or even on purpose – killing anyone and everyone on the ship. Watching her take out the White Tigers had given him all sorts of interesting ideas about how to harness that ability. It could make a big difference in a lot of ways. Keep the number of surprises to a minimum, pull safe combinations and access codes from peoples’ heads, and act as a look-out. As he fell asleep, he reminded himself to ask her how she felt about armed robbery in the morning . . .

*

*

*

“Uncle, you’re going to kill us all!” screamed Johnny frantically as Master Lei maneuvered the sleek, powerful new shuttle through the busy lanes around the space station. The old man cackled as he found the dock they had been directed to. “Nonsense!” the monk at the stick said, casually. “No problems at all. Why, were you scared?” “No,” agreed Johnny, a little sullenly. “I just spent a whole lot of money on this ship. I’d be vexed if you cracked it up the very first time we head out to a business meeting.” “Oh, couldn’t have that on my conscience,” Master Lei said with mock seriousness. “My apologies, nephew, I haven’t done this in a while,” he said with a half-bow. “I assume His Highness did not soil the imperial undies, again?” “I knew this whole Emperor thing was a bad idea,” he muttered darkly. “You won’t be Emperor until the ceremony,” reminded Sir Nathaniel from the rear seats. “Until then, you’re just Crown Prince, officially. And not even that, under Alliance law. You are a mere corporate CEO.” “ ‘Amber Phoenix Enterprises’,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure that won’t arouse any suspicions.” Nyan Nyan giggled enchantingly next to him. She loved watching the verbal dueling the Lei family excelled at – and she was getting pretty good at it, herself. “It’s only the holding company,” she reminded. “We’re here representing Lei-Hue Consolidated Ventures this time, remember?” “Which one was that?” Johnny asked dully. “I got confused three companies ago.” “Just smile pretty and nod, dear,” Nyan Nyan encouraged with a contented sigh. The truth was, Johnny knew far more about the intricacies of the plan than he let on. But he was quickly developing a good Emperor’s instinct for knowing when to let his subordinates handle the details. “I’m sorry we had to set up all of those companies, but Whitehall was a pretty spot for a honeymoon, don’t you agree?” “We were on a planet?” he asked, wide eyed. “I had no idea!” “Stop it,” she said, affectionately hitting him on the shoulder. “You saw sunlight at least twice.” “It wouldn’t be a honeymoon otherwise,” agreed Master Lei. “I’m surprised you got as much work done as you did.” “Who, me?” Johnny asked. “All I did was sign stuff.” “He means me. All those times I was in the bathroom? I was actually waving our lawyers and bankers. Sorry,” she said. “I thought you were a bit distracted, that fourth or fifth time. Anyway, I’m sure you set everything up beautifully. This is exciting,” he admitted. Indeed, they were here largely because of her. She had orchestrated a complex and sophisticated series of events that over the course of the last several weeks had led to this moment – while getting to know, and fall more completely in love, with her new husband. She glowed the way only a new bride can. Nyan Nyan looked stunning in her custom designed, conservatively cut but devastatingly smart sand-colored business suit, complete with pill hat – nothing like the seductive, voracious tigress she was in private. Johnny fell in love with her a little more each day, and each day he felt as if he couldn’t possibly love her more. He was dressed in a ridiculously expensive gray business suit himself, as befitted the head of a multiplanetary corporation or six. In the seats behind him his four bodyguards (who wore dark business suits themselves, instead of their parade yellows, with bulges under their armpits where their weapons were) fidgeted nervously at Master Lei’s piloting. And behind them was General Sir Nathaniel Campbell, who sat with his new uncle, the former Major in the White Tigers, on one side and Rel Fexive, nascent spy, erstwhile student on the other. He had considered asking for more security, but Campbell had politely intervened. This was a business meeting, he explained. Not an armed revolution. Johnny almost preferred the later. He felt strange and uncomfortable about the affair – business wasn’t something he was talented with – but his bride had steered him here, so here he would be. If he was lucky, he mused, perhaps a gunfight would break out. Failing that, he would smile pretty and nod. He had quickly gotten used to the image and perquisites of being an interplanetary playboy – much better than those of a petty gangster, all things considered. But he had concealed a gun and a knife about him himself – just in case – and his bat was in the cargo compartment. Some things you just didn’t change right away. “And . . . were docked,” Master Lei declared. “Two minutes ahead of schedule, thank you very much.” He started the postflight as the hatch hissed open and the guards started through. “Thank you, Uncle,” Johnny said, meaningfully slapping him on the shoulder as he was leaving. “None of this would be possible without you. The Empire owes you a debt.” “Nonsense,” the old man dismissed. “The rutting Empire can hump itself, for all I care. I just want my nephew and niece-in-law to have a happy, safe, and comfortable life . . . so they can provide me with many descendents in my dotage. If this is what it takes to make that happen . . . Now go. You don’t want to be late. I’ll join you shortly.” The executive conference room was near enough to the lock to get there without taking a lift, and the Executive Board of Lei-Hue Consolidated Ventures were led there by a senior intern whose eyes got large when she saw the size and serious nature of the guests. “Just have a seat,” she said, demurely, “He’ll be with you in a moment.” “Thank you,” Johnny muttered as he sat. He had to admit, the place was elegant and screamed money in every possible way. It took a concerted effort not to look uncomfortable while he waited. But not more than sixty seconds after the intern had departed, the man they had come to see entered, smiling confidently. He bowed to them repeatedly, in just the proper degree to indicate his great respect and admiration of them – perhaps overplaying it at bit. That boded well.” “So, so, welcome! Mr. and Mrs. Lei, gentlemen, please make yourselves at home. You may call me Mason, Mason Rockford – but you knew that, didn’t you? You asked for me, personally, when you set up the appointment, which leaves me a bit confused.” “My friend Inara Serra recommended you, Mr. Rockford,” Nyan Nyan said demurely. “She said that you were an old friend, and that we should speak only to you.” “And my old . . . polo buddy, Simon, he had only great things to say about the service.” “That was very kind of him, after the unfortunate business during his stay. But what can I interest you folks in? Looking for an island estate? A beachfront bungalow? Or were you looking at commercial properties? I’ll tell you, confidentially, that Blue Sun has been eyeing a prime piece for a tuna canning plant and oyster processing facility, but they can’t seem to make up their minds. You could get that one at a great price, then turn around and sell it back to them for twice what you paid.” “I . . . I wanted to ask you, first of all, about the problems that I’ve been hearing about Certification,” Johnny asked. “I read something about some issues. . . ?” “Some improperly taken data, nothing more,” Mason dismissed. “Happens all the time. One doesn’t certify a whole entire world without a few minor glitches. I’m sure you’ve also heard about the recent riots among the servile class – entirely contained within their compound, just some organized criminal activity – we’ve put the ringleaders behind bars, now. But I can assure you that Certification will go forward. Which means that you can take advantage of even lower prices, Mr. Lei, your credit goes much further out here than in the Core. Perhaps . . . perhaps start with a condo? See if you like it, and if you want to trade up to something more substantial, I guarantee the company will buy your unit at full market price if you don’t have a buyer.” Despite his cheerful manner, there was an easily detectable note of desperation in the man’s voice. Sir Nathaniel had provided a report on the subject – Mason was staring bankruptcy in the face. Indeed, the whole company was months away from creditors starting legal proceedings. Johnny looked guiltily at his bride and nodded. “Go ahead, darling. Both barrels.” Nyan Nyan nodded, then smiled and turned to Mason. “I’m afraid my husband is being disingenuous. He knows quite well what the status of Certification is, and why. You see, my husband and I are stockholders. We – our company – has been buying up ECTC stock quietly for the last two weeks. On all the exchanges. Together, we’ve managed to acquire about . . . seventy percent? Through dummies, mostly, of course, but we own it. As a matter of fact, you are the last large stockholder we haven’t bought out.” “Wha . . . ?” Mason asked, his eyes wide and his mouth agape in horror. “You . . . bought . . . my company?” “Most of it,” agreed Nyan Nyan. “We’d like to buy your shares, as well – say seventy-five percent of your twenty one. Which would leave you with five or six percent.” “I . . . I don’t understand, Ma’am,” Mason said, his face turning white. “Why would you want my shares? With seventy percent . . .” “Two reasons,” the princess said, ticking them off her gloved fingers. “First, we want as close to absolute control of the company as possible. Second, we want to leave you with a small piece, for all of your good work here. As a favor to Inara, if nothing else. But we think you’ll be pleased with the result. Six percent is enough to keep you on the Board of Directors, if you want.” “I . . . what if I don’t want to sell? Why would I sell? Why should I sell?” he asked in a daze. “I . . .” “You’ll sell because we’re offering you three times what the shares are currently worth, and we’re willing to pay cash money for them. In addition, the company will grant you full title to that quaint little bungalow Inara was telling me about, as well as your executive suite in Apex, plus a full time car and driver, as well as unrestricted executive-level access to all company facilities whether or not you elect to take your seat on the Board, and a permanent salary as a consultant for the rest of your life. How does that grab you, Mr. Rockford?” “That sounds . . . intriguing,” he admitted, swallowing. “Intriguing, hell, that’s the best offer you’re going to get, and you know it. Not that it is really up for discussion. We own majority share of the company, and we will proceed with you, or without you. I’d rather not do it without you, and I just put the sweetest of all possible deals on the table, so all I have to know is,” she said, fixing him with a steady stare, pregnant with intense meaning, “are you in?” Mason paused a moment, and looked back and forth from husband to wife, then sighed and smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “I’m in . . . boss!” he said with an ironic chuckle. “Glad to hear it,” agreed Johnny, who with that one sentence profoundly altered the future of his homeworld. “We’re happy to have you aboard. But I warn you . . . there are going to be a few changes . . .” “Make them!” Mason said, happily. “I hope they include a hefty infusion of capital. I was blowing sunshine up your ass – sorry, ma’am – a moment ago. The issues with Certification are going to be expensive and may set us back by up to three years. Without some more cash, we’re going to be looking the wolf in the eye any day, now.” “Well, that’s easy enough to handle,” Nyan Nyan agreed. “Because we’re pulling the application.” “WHAT?” Mason yelped. “What do you mean?” “I mean that ECTC is officially withdrawing the application for Certification filed with the Alliance.” “But we can’t sell property without Certification!” he wailed. “Not one gorram square inch! Without Certification, we’re never going to clear a profit!” “You misunderstand our motives,” Nyan Nyan said serenely. “We are withdrawing Certification because we intend to hold all company assets ourselves, including every square inch of land on the surface. People can lease – through us – but not buy. We will control it.” “That’s just not going to fly as a business model,” warned Mason. “I’m sure you’re bright kids and all – don’t get me wrong – but with the kind of debt load we’re under, we can’t wait for the leases to start accruing before our creditors close in – that’s steady income, but right now we need a big fat wad of money!” “Your main creditors are?” Nyan Nyan asked. “You know the answer to that, or you wouldn’t have asked it. We got plenty. The security firm, for one. Construction, labor, environmental, the bank – we owe everyone.” “No,” Nyan Nyan said, “we own everyone.” “The security firm?” Johnny ticked off, “bought out by New Phoenix Guardians Security, Whitehall. My uncle runs it. He’ll be arriving shortly on my private yacht to take over. I expect he’s going to be willing to settle the matter. The construction companies were, mostly, bought out a few weeks ago – they were glad to sell because of they didn’t think they’d ever get paid. Same with the environmental services company, same with the labor contractors, same with the bank. We own majority share of all of your creditors. I think there’s going to be a few reorganizations, but as of this moment you can quit worrying about the debt. We owe it . . . but to ourselves.” “That’s . . .” Mason said, trailing off. “Like I said, there will be some changes. Continuing to lease instead of selling will be one. Another will be in . . . personnel. How many residential units do you have constructed in Apex, now?” “Uh, a little over . . . tens of thousands, tens of thousands more will be done as soon as we can pay the contractors.” “Good. Start posting notices in Meridian City, immediately: anyone who wants to relocate to one of those units is free to do so, at Company expense. First year’s lease is free. So are all the utilities. And save out about six thousand of the high-end units. I have some more people coming.” “But . . .Meridian City?” “It’s going to be our new . . . paramilitary training facility. Security’s going to get a lot of emphasis for a while, I think, and that shit-hole will make the perfect military base – already has the spaceport and everything. While you’re at it, I want the section of Apex you had reserved for the future convention center to be scrapped. That will be the site of the new Palace. I suppose the current company buildings will do for an administration. “Second item,” Johnny said, barreling through, “No more sales meetings. No more sales. Epiphany is closed to further corporate development. No Blue Sun. No Sony. Everyone who’s put down a deposit? Return it As the few companies who have set up here have their leases expire, they will be either bought up and merged with the company, or they will be asked to leave. Epiphany will no longer be a haven for the corporate elite.” “Um . . .” Mason said, doubtfully. “Third item,” Johnny continued. “All residents have access to full healthcare, under the company plan. Fourth item. These men,” he said, sliding a flexi across the table, “are currently in your custody. That ugly old bastard, the one they call the Tortoise? I want him shoveling shit by the end of the day. I don’t really care what kind of shit, but I want him knee-deep in it. The other guy? Bring him to me.” “He’s . . . he’s one of the local gangsters,” Mason said, confused. “He’s indentured, now.” “Oh, we’ll keep his indenture. But I think a few months being turned into an Imperial soldier would be good for him – it might help his rehabilitation, I think. Besides, I can’t have him killed – oh, I could, I suppose – but he’s family, and we Lei’s have a particular sense of family.” “This gangster? Is family? And you want him to be an . . . Imperial soldier?” Mason asked, his confusion growing. “Yes, oddly enough. He’s my half-brother. Long story. But I want him turned over to my uncle’s custody,” he said, nodding to the older man with the scarred face who looked on. “Major Lei will make a real Lei out of him. Or kill him trying. “Fifth item,” Nyan Nyan said, picking up. “You have a sales assistant named Goldfarb, Goldstien, something like that?” “Um . . . yes, yes we do. She showed Simon around. Inara remembered her?” “Yes,” Nyan Nyan said. “She made quite an impression. Cut her a check for a month’s salary and book her on the first commercial flight back to whatever hole she crawled out of. I want her off-world in the next forty-eight hours.” “Anything else?” Mason asked, as amused as he was perplexed. “Yes, one last thing,” Johnny said, suddenly. “The hotel in Apex? Rename it.” “To what?” “Hotel Serenity.” “That seems like a pretty odd request . . . even in context of these others,” Mason admitted. “I’m a complex guy,” Johnny said with a serious grin. “Humor me.” “You’re the boss,” shrugged Mason. “You can call it whatever the hell you want. It’s your hotel.” “Thanks. Oh, and I want parks. Baseball parks. A bunch of them, all over Apex. We’ll get some real leagues together, I think . . .” He was interrupted by an alarm klaxon going off. Mason stiffened. “That’s the security alarm,” he explained. “Must be a glitch . . .” “Probably not, actually. They’ve probably just detected my yacht approaching with my uncle and his team. If you would be so kind as to arrange to have every available shuttle readied to start ferrying passengers to Apex, I’d appreciate it,” Johnny said smoothly. “. They’ve been cooped up for a long time, now, and I’d like you to open up the recreation facilities there for their use. Free of charge. As roomy as my yacht is, they’d no doubt like to stretch their legs.” “But . . . wasn’t that your yacht that you came in?” “Just my shuttle. My yacht is significantly larger. Larger than this station, even – someday I’ll give you a tour.” “Must be some yacht,” breathed the executive. “It’s a custom job,” agreed Johnny. “How many passengers? I’ll need to know how many shuttles,” he explained. “There will be about ten thousand or so . . . to start.” “Ten . . . thousand?” “Lot of family,” Johnny explained. “Y’know, for an orphan,” he continued, looking adoringly at Nyan Nyan as his every dream came true, “I have an awful lot of family.”

*

*

*

Ten hours later the previously unused ballroom at the Apex Regency Hotel – now the Hotel Serenity – was broken in with an amazing, and unexpected, party. Shuttle after shuttle of members of the Thousand Families were brought down and processed here. There were ECTC interns leading them through the process of getting assigned to their new homes, issued a transit pass and a temporary company purchase account. The lines were quiet, and well organized, but there was a great deal of excitement in the air. Some of the smallest children had never set foot on soil, or been under sky before, and their sense of wonder was palpable. The subdued atmosphere completely broke down at the ballroom door. In the lobby, members of the Thousand Families who had been in exile on the transnuclear station were reuniting with their Epiphany counterparts, some separated by generations. The news of the Lei Hue Consolidated Ventures acquisition of the ECTC had spread like wildfire among the slums of Meridian City – followed by the announcements concerning brand new luxury homes available in Apex for all who wanted them. Johnny and Nyan Nyan were facing adoration and love worthy of a popular folk god – it had taken a line of uniformed guardsmen (the Imperial Crest they wore had been temporarily covered with the insignia of the New Phoenix Guardians Security – but everyone in the room knew what those uniforms meant) to separate the couple from the throng of zealous well-wishers. Sir Nathaniel stood with his students at the rear of the room, surveying the crowds while he sipped champagne. He rarely indulged – a good Confucian gentleman always maintained decorum, after all – but the re-founding of the Empire was an occasion worthy of indulgence. And it was excellent champagne. “Never had nothin’ this bubbly before, Sir Nathaniel,” Rel said as he examined his flute suspiciously. “It’s kinda like beer, only sweet . . .” “Yes, it is. It’s used to celebrate important occasions. Like weddings,” he said, nodding to where Chin Yi and Nyan Nyan were sitting, hand in hand. “Which reminds me – I never got a chance to ask—” Before he did get the chance, Johnny stepped up to a capture and a microphone, and called for quiet. It took a moment, but in seconds the hall was silent, the people listening raptly to their local boy made good. “Ladies, Gentlemen, and honored guests!” he began. “I just wanted to make a few more announcements! First, I have conferred with Heavenly Master Lei and the other priests, and it has been decided that new Temples will be built in Apex – we’ll break ground tomorrow. It should be finished by Spring, and then I can plow the furrows and really get this party started!” There was a raucous cheering at that. “Plowing the furrows” was one of the most ancient of Chinese rituals, one that established the Prince as Emperor and Son of Heaven. It was the defining act of his reign. The Empress had a similar ritual, feeding mulberry leaves to silkworms, but there was time enough to finish that after the temple was built. Sir Nathaniel nodded appreciatively. The lad was striking the right note – these people craved the return of the Empire like a drug. “Secondly, it has been brought to my attention that my flagship – I’m sorry, my ‘yacht’ – bears a name given by the Tyrant, an honorable name to be sure, but not a name with which I will begin my reign. Henceforth, the gallant warship will be known as Kuan Yin, after the Goddess of Childbirth, not Sun Tzu, the venerable sage of warriors. This is not to denigrate the proud, fine military tradition of our people,” he insisted, as there was a murmur through the ballroom. “This is to begin our new life here under a symbol of hope for the future. Because,” he said, beaming, “my lovely bride has just informed me that she intends on birthing my heir within the year!” The ballroom shook and vibrated with the cheers and applause, several songs broke out, and a tearful Heavenly Master Lei came forward to embrace them both. Sir Nathaniel and his student joined in enthusiastically. Sir Nathaniel was quite impressed with how far the boy had come in just a few months. He was a Lei through and through, and no mistake. “You were saying, Sir Nathaniel?” Rel asked after the noise had returned to normal. “I was? Oh! I was just curious. What was it that River said to you, if you don’t mind me asking, that convinced you to take Imperial service?” “That? Oh,” the young man – now well-groomed, and looking splendid in a tailored dark uniform of Imperial Military Intelligence – said with a trace of embarrassment. “She, uh . . . well, sir, she said she could never truly love a man that didn’t understand the intricacies of quantum mechanics and higher mathematics. Now, you know I learnt my numbers, and my readin’ is pickin’ up nice. But I figger I got at least a few more years o’ study to pick up all that stuff. If that’s what I got to do to catch up with Miss River, by God, that’s what I’ll do!” Campbell swallowed a chuckle, and converted it into a tight-lipped smile. He didn’t discourage the boy – he had drive, and passion, and good common sense even if he still remained woefully ignorant. With training he would make an excellent Imperial agent someday, and that included full literacy and far more studying than the lad suspected. But the bar River had set was high, indeed, and probably set without the possibility of seeing it accomplished. Sir Nathaniel didn’t say that. “Yes, son, if you want to catch up with River Tam, you have quite an adventure in front of you,” he declared, finishing his champagne. “Yessir. Quite an adventure.”