Thick. Chapter H: Shifting Ground. - * Characters and world belong to Mr. Whedon and co. Mistakes and follies, my own. - - “We get word yet?” “Naw, Captain, not a one.” Mal did not speak his frustration. Wash was busy reading over spaceport news; Milagros’s atmo was always tricky. Full of storms and powerful winds. Another reason it had stayed off Alliance radar. Purplebellies too lazy to deal with it, Wash thought. Thank the ‘verse for some constants. “We got a plan, here?” Jayne asked. Leaning forward over the various world sheets spread across consoles. Wash slapped at his hand. “Don’t play with the grown-ups’ work.” Jayne moved his hand back to retaliate; Zoe stood up from her leaning posture against Wash’s chair; Mal cleared his throat. “Not rightly sure. Jayne knows the land, might point us in some direction. If we don’t hear from the doc. Figure it’s best, leaving Ledah somewhere’s medical. On Milagros. Where’s a problem. But, we’ve still got to take our cargo to Santo. Could scout around there a bit. Things look good, wave her back, tell her to move on.” Jayne nodded along with Mal’s unfurling idea. Liking the simplicity, the leaving complications behind them. “Leave them there.” It was Zoe, though, that spoke to the heart of Mal’s plan. “Girl’s trouble ain’t ours. Reckon we’ve done more than she asked, if we get her to a clinic.” “She paid for a ride to Santo.” “She lied about going to Santo, Wash. And, if I recall correctly, boy needs help now, not three days hence.” “Wouldn’t take—” “Enough. She stays here. Only question is where, and how we get her there. And what we do when we get to Santo. We clear?” Zoe again replied: “Clear, sir.” And she shot Wash a warning glance. But Mal knew the difference between obeying an order and believing in it. Not that he had the luxury to fix that issue right now. “Preacher, think you can handle escorting the lady through, whatever this town’s called, where we're landing? Find her a doc?” “I’m not sure I’m the right candidate, Captain. She’s had... some less than inspiring guides before, of my cloth.” “What a shock. Still, need Zoe and Wash here dealing with the city-buyers. Me and Jayne off in the shuttle—” “And Kaylee,” several voices reminded him. “If you think Kaylee’s leaving the ship after—” “Scans, sir?” Zoe’s question threw him off. He had been sure that was a made-up something-or-other to get Kaylee to another scrap-hill. Zoe did not look like she was playing. “Fine. Jayne knows the territory and Kaylee’s gotta... do... whatever. Which means I’ve got no one left save you, Shepherd.” “Of course, Captain. Consider it done.” “Wish I could.” “You done Mal?” “Yes, Wash, was I interrupting something important?” “Well, other than me, trying to land this in the middle of a fairly substantial layer of storm cells, there’s a wave.” “Simon?” “Actually, it’s Inara.” - - “Inara,” he said as greeting, rolling out her syllables. “Captain,” she said back, in two crisp breaks. “Has everything gone tian fuhn di fu there in the last three hours?” Mal pretended to consider. “No... I’d say things were right about their usual level of chaos. Nice of you to wave.” “I was talking to Kaylee, and she disappeared at your bidding, off to some problem or other.” “Talking to Kaylee about what?” Mal asked. “I don’t see how that matters.” “It does in that...” Could we ever not do this, Inara thought. Tuning out his staccato justifications and concentrating on saying exactly what she needed to, in order to get what she wanted. So she could help him. Kaylee. Them. Maybe. Help the crew of Serenity, maybe. Because they were friends, and people she might need, some day. Some day. She could not even convince herself what she meant. When would she ever need a barely operational band of half-hearted thieves and half-decent men? “How is your medic?” she cut in, as he was still making his case about being in control and charge of Kaywinnet Lee Frye. He thought he had been winning that case. Her question showed him it had been lost before he started. “The doc?” “Yes.” Inara watched for guilt or anger, but she read confusion instead. And frustration, she thought, and grief. Deeply set. All of it was under the weariness Mal had worn every time she spoke with him. She read him correctly, as usual. Training did not fail. She simple misjudged the cause, thinking him sleepless for worry or war-scars or general inability to let go. She could not believe herself the cause. She was not, entirely, but it suited Mal to wrap everything up into one image. Find in her his reason for anger, despair, worry, sorrow, and want. It was a pretty package, after all. He could play with it at will, or fling barbs at the reality. Though in reality she was much harder to hit. As she now reminded him. “Doc’s fine. Great. On vacation, actually. As it were.” “Not on the ship then.” “Nope. On-world, of his own volition, I might add. Afore you start blaming me—” “And who’s Ledah?” Inara said it perfectly. Completely free of jealously, it was a wry, sarcastic question. The kind that said she knew the answer, was just waiting for him to say something wrong. Trap him in a slip-up. When had she learned to interrogate, with such perfection, he badly wanted to know. Why was it a skill someone thought she would need? And how did she end up with all the ammunition, this time, he wondered. Kaylee. Girl was out to get him. In fact, every woman he knew was out of subvert his plans some one way or another. Inara waited patiently. “Passenger, as it were. Concerns you how?” “Because Kaylee seemed very upset, and that worries me.” Now though, she was a touch too defensive. “Don’t see how she’s your worry now, as you went and left—” He did not finish. Her face had gone still, and he knew this argument was a stalemate anyways. He changed tacks. “Turns out Ledah’s just another tourist. You know. Quiet, simple. Pays upfront, but forgets to declare a dead husband and a boy dying of fei jie he in her baggage. And a less-than-forgiving father-in-law.” “Is her son...” “No.” Mal answered the question before hearing it. “We’re finding somewhere on Milagros we can leave them—” “On Milagros. Don’t be stupid, Mal. There isn’t anything remotely close to helpful on that world.” “Don’t see how’s we got much a—” “Santo is next?” “Yes. Though how you know—” “Take them to Santo. Find a clinic there.” “Inara,” he was whining. In front of his crew. Wash checked a laugh that Jayne did not. Mal supposed Inara could hear his snort. He was glad he could not see Zoe, probably invisibly cheering Inara on, for making the case she would not, but wished to. He tried to sound firm, instead was exasperated: “I can’t carry them half across the system—” “It’s not half.” “—and the boy needs help now. There ain’t nothing on the ship.” “He needs specific medicines. Not to mention care.” “Which there’s no proof we’ll be finding it on Santo any more than Milagros.” “You see them to Santo, I’ll see you get what you need. “Really. And how’s that?” “You take care of your part, and leave me mine, Captain. Haven’t you enough to deal with, right now?” “Don’t mean you can just—” he stopped. She was set, he could feel it. And set well, in the knowledge she was right. Which she was. He did not doubt for a moment she could move impossible things, and that he would a carefully wrapped package, with instructions in English and Mandarin, awaiting him at the spaceport’s PO. Which meant he had no real justification to abandon Ledah and the boy to almost certain failure. “Could be, you just send the things to Milagros,” he tried. A last attempt but a good one, he thought, to win back something. “Post doesn’t much get through to the world. Not many like to land there—” was Wash’s helpful reminder. “Hey, Inara. Good to hear your voice,” he called out, louder. Inara smiled quickly at it; her shoulders dropped a bit, and Mal saw she had been frozen into her firm stance. Locked up into it. “Right,” he said, either to Wash or Inara. “Fine. Pluck at those high-flying wires you always had, and I’ll tell Ledah who she’s beholden to.” Inara nodded and signed off. Mal crossed his arms and waited for Wash to say something. Wash did not turn from the windows. “Wash?” “Yeah Mal?” “We gotta have a chat, ‘bout you talkin’ when you should be flyin’?” “Sure, but can we do it when I‘m not flyin'? Cuz I've got to get through a whole tangle of black clouds and lightning if we ever want to begin this deal, so I...” “Fine. I’ll go tell Ledah the plan—” “I’ve got it, sir.” Zoe was quick to go. “All right. Then I’ll just ... go... somewhere. Else.” “Bye, Mal,” Jayne said. With some obvious glee at how quickly he was talked round. By a girl. Mal left muttering about mutiny and companion tricks workin’ ‘cross the Black. Book stepped out of his way with ease, chuckling. - - Simon was sorting through the various patients waiting for him, when the morning broke. It was a gentle sort of triage; help the baby first, then the broken leg, then look at the sore arm. The clinic did not officially open for walk-ins until nine, but farmers and travelers started filling the armchairs nearer to seven. Simon had wondered at the furniture in the waiting room, when he first saw the clinic. Now he understood Elias’s wisdom. It was hard enough to be sick or hurting on this planet. Stuck in the official, uncomfortable chairs of real hospital seemed added, unnecessary misery. Simon was still waking up early enough to watch the sunrise, his bio-rhythms stuck on ship-time, a good many hours different from Westfield’s sun exposure. It was something deeply restful in marking out time by sunrises, though. He had heard the crew speak of them, and had sat with Wash several times to watch one through space. But magnificence was not what he needed. A day that started bright with bird-song, ended dark with creaking, in that, he felt whole. Wholesome. Understood the word as he had not since his days of residency, when he spent days and nights at a time under the mechanical lighting of hospitals. Hardly knowing the day or time, except that everything worked on schedules, dates, minutes. But they seemed artificial measurements, placeholders for necessary but abstract concepts. Elias, he knew, kept the hours of nine to six, for the clinic. Spent most of his free time traveling to emergencies and tending to those in the few beds he had; but he did love to sleep in. He was still sprawled out on his bed, when Simon went to ask him about breakfast. Making it nearly twelve hours; he had dropped his bag on the floor and flopped on the bed, still in the clothes he hiked down in. It had been a medacad tee-shirt, Simon remembered. From exam week. Wanted: Study Partner, Basic Anatomy. Simon’s class had not been nearly so clever. Elias might have been at Whitegrove’s Medacad. It was known for its highly riotous student body. And slightly off-beat politics. Musing such, River caught him off-guard. “For us,” she explained, appearing at his side, and pushing the cortex link into his hand. Wild-eyed and almost dancing. “Broke the code, simple code; broke it fast but wasn’t sure. Thought it was a trick, a trap, to pull me in, but there it is. Simple code. Simply done. Our birthdays plus Aesop, and it plays correct.” Simon, distacted by her words, one atop the other, and her hands, pushing the screen towards him, setting it to play, only watch with half an eye the commercial she had programmed to loop. It was a real-estate deal he thought. There was some wave distortion going on, and he thought it sounded like he was hearing two different voices speaking at once. Until the second one jumped out. His mother’s. Playing over the video of a house, one he knew. River tugged him back a bit, so that he dropped into a chair. Replaying the clip over and over again. It was the lakeside house his parents had rented for several summers. Their off-world vacation, before his school and his father’s work had made leaving Osiris too difficult. And off-world vacations became unfashionable. The rooms were exactly as he remembered; the green-water, luminescent pool, with the purple skimming fish. His mother, speaking. “I knew you’d figure this out. My geniuses. We are so sorry. Made a mistake, and must reconcile it. Find us. Please. My xiao zang gui. Come home.” It was her voice, calm, pleading, and sounding proud, too. Proud they, no River, had broken her code. He ended up just staring at River, who was leaning over him, eyes flicking across his face, smiling. He remembered what she had said, before thrusting the screen into his hand. “Aesop?” “Your imaginary friend.” River said. The words meant nothing to him. He still could not believe he had just heard a message from his parents. Over captures of a house he spent summers in, lifetimes ago. It was like seeing a ghost. Or being one, meeting someone from a life before. “I didn’t have—” he tried to figure out what was real. “I know.” She waited. “But I said you did. To get you in trouble.” “And, did I get in trouble?” Simon asked. Dazed. He replayed the message again. And again. “No.” River looked down, took the handset from Simon. “No. Nothing happened. Mine had to go away.” She was walking out of the room, taking the cortex link with her. “River, wait. We have to decide what to do. We don’t know what that means; we have to think—plan.” She was gone. Having not shown Simon the other clips she found. The much more recent ones. In glaring colors, in full riotous sound. “People are here.” She called it from the hall. Simon blew out his breath in one long stream. Took information he could not help or handle and shoved it aside. He was getting good at that. Walked back to deal with problems he could solve. Falling into the rhythm of single-handed care, he was able to forget, for a moment, how many walls had just crashed down around him. - Elias stuck his head into the infirmary once, to say good-morning. Simon waved an acknowledgement when Elias said he was going to check the waves then come back to help out. Simon returned attention to the boy in front of him, a broken wrist cradled by his other hand. His father, standing next to him, was talking about birds’ nests and looking for trouble and boys-being-boys. Simon was remembering his own father. His response to looking for trouble. Which was in no way like the proudly concerned story-telling of the man before him. Who never took his hand off his son’s unharmed shoulder. - Elias sat in front of the blank console screen. For one moment he thought of replying, all the number of ways he could. But he sent a politely urgent wave instead. Then checked up on each of his in-patients, dealing out their meds, though it was a hour too early by the charts. He was gazing at the four when he heard Simon’s voice from the front office, giving final instructions to the father about how to look after his son’s newly set wrist. He came into the clinic, still making notes on a new looking-chart, two beautifully wrapped loaves of bread under one arm “That wasn’t so bad,” he said to Elias, without preamble. Clicked his pen closed, shut the file. He was still jittery, but capable of a smile, after setting the wrist. “These families. They’re so... I can see why you stay. Patients that actually listen to precautions. And pay me,” as he held one up, “in ‘prize-winning raisin-sugar bread.’ You could get used to things being simple.” He was putting things off. He would not do anything, before talking to Mal. And the crew. That would give him four more days, about, to just be a good doctor, living by sunlight and freshly baked bread. “I’m really sorry, Simon.” Elias did not face him. “You’re doing a great job. But you’ve got to go.” “I’ve got to go?” “Yes. Pack your things. All of them. Get them out of here. I can’t—they can’t find your stuff. We should have time; I’ll help.” Now he turned. Started pushing Simon. “Go, man. C’mon,” he hit Simon on the arm, and headed to the back rooms. Simon followed slowly, trying to work out what he had heard. “Did I miss something?” he asked, as Elias started opening drawers, dumping Simon’s things into the bag he had already pulled out from under the bed, unzipped and thrown open. “Here, you pack. Tell me what meds River needs, I’ll get you a week’s supply. That should work, your ship gets back when?” Simon’s confusion quickly turned to horror. At everything suddenly and sharply going strange. And wrong. Since the two were never far apart, here on the Rim, with River. “What? Don’t look at me like that, man. Wode ma, I’m doctor too, remember. Think you can pull shit like that in my clinic and not have me notice? Yan jing wan quan kan bu jian de di di Core-bred arrogance. Thinking everyone who ain’t on—start packing. Good,” he said, as Simon moved over to the suitcase. He threw open the doors of the armoire, and laughed at the neatness. “Now, what is it? Mexzelpretin? Betachromitil? What’s the least you think you can manage—” “Stop.” Simon said. Elias did, standing up slowly, a pair of shoes in his hand. “Whoa, there Simon. What the hell you doin’?” “Put down the shoes, and then raise your hands.” Elias did as Simon directed, slowly, never taking his eyes of the gun pointed at him. “Now, your going to tell me, very carefully, exactly why I have to leave.” “It’s a bit of a long story, Simon, and we don’t have—” “Talk quickly.” He kept his hands from shaking by concentrating more on his feet than his fingers. How he managed to keep the panic out of his voice was a mystery. One he gratefully accepted. Now, if only River would keep out of this, he thought. And waited to hear what Elias would say. Elias read the clock beside Simon’s bed. And estimated times. - - It was Wash’s opinion that he did not get enough credit, safely landing Serenity on Milagros, in the face of extreme weather warnings. But Mal had to see Book and his new flock off into the city, in hopes they would find some sort of hold-over medicines, and then hustle Jayne and Kaylee into a shuttle, wishing the whole while that this job had been settled and stowed yesterday. That gave Zoe and Wash the ship to themselves and several hours before buyers were like to show. He considered it thanks enough. Touching down in the midst of a greenwood, armed and anxious about meeting new contacts, he could only take care of so much. But when Gray arrived with only two other young men to help carry the boxes, arrived with copper ready and cleared by Kaylee in a minute, Mal relaxed some. Sent Jayne off to watch Kaylee at the scrap-yard, and fell into the easy patter of trade between honest-like smugglers and black-market suppliers. Which turned into stories about the war and plans for the future. Conversation about ranching versus farming eased into ones about politics in general, as Gray’s sons carried crates back to a hidden lift, parked in its own cover, a few hundred feet away. - Mal shook hands and the deal was done; the cargo already unpacked and gone. “Pleasure doing business with you folks,” he said, smiling at Gray. “And thanks for taking the trouble of meeting us out here.” “Glad to do business with an honest rogue, even if it means trekking out here to the backwoods. You run a good operation, Captain Reynolds. Hope we can trade again.” “You know how to reach me.” Shaking hands again, Mal left Gray to his purchase and left. He realized Jayne had fallen in beside him. “Jayne?” “Yeah, Mal?” Jayne sounded perfectly innocent. Mal wanted to shake him. “What are you doing here?” “Uh, walkin’ to the shuttle you landed way the hell far away.” “You’re supposed to be watching Kaylee. I told you to mind her.” Jayne was standing, unrepentant and unconcerned. Mal could not decide if he was angry or in disbelief. He decided he could be both. He took a step forward. Jayne took one back. “Aw, Mal. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to her here. Spaceport junkyard ain’t two klicks from the shuttle. She knows the way. I showed her the trail real good.” “Trail? You expect Kaylee to just walk two kilometers on a backwoods trail?” “Mal, I told ya. It’s a good town. Nothing’s gonna happen to her.” “Go find her.” “What, I gotta walk all—” “I don’t care if you’ve gotta walk to the Core, go find my mechanic, and don’t let her out of your sight.” Mal glared at the back of Jayne, who took off through the dappled shade of the trees. Reaching the shuttle, he hid the money as best he could, and started wondering if it would be better to head to town himself to find her, or stay put and act as a communication center for all his wandering crew. His back and forth was cut off by Jayne’s appearance; he managed to get within ten feet of Mal before the captain noticed. “Je-aw-oh. Jayne,” he breathed out in one. “D’ya find her?” “Nah, guy at the junkyard said she left a while ago, sack of goodies with her. Sweet talked her way into some bounty, sounds like.” “And?” Jayne stood, puzzled. “Why ain’t you looking for her on the trail?” “Walked the whole trail. Twice—there and back. Figured she beat me here, or you went to find her. You know, if we had grabbed comm. links before ya sent me out scouting like a blind mouse in a—” “Well I ain’t left, and Kaylee ain’t back. Which means she’s somewhere not on the trail, and you better hope she’s—” “She’s right there.” “What?” Mal followed Jayne’s pointing arm. “Hey Cap. You fighting about me?” “Where were you?” “At the junkyard. Look at all the stuff I got—” Jayne cut her off before she could show off her new treasures. “How’d you get back, I checked the whole trail.” “I got turned about somewhere, I think. But this nice boy showed me back.” “Boy?” Mal was scanning the woods behind her. “Where’d he go?” “Oh, hey, where did he go? He was cute.” She turned around and peered into the woods. “Wei? Hello? You still there?” But it was Jayne and Mal that caught the sounds of clicking. “Kaylee, get back here,” Mal shouted, as twelve well-armed men and women came out of the trees, the majority on horseback. Mal ran the odds and put his arms up slowly, making sure Jayne did the same. Kaylee took little steps towards them, holding her junkyard bag close to her chest. A woman set her horse stepping a few paces closer to Mal’s crew and knocked her hat off her head with a quick gesture. “Gai si!” Jayne said, making Kaylee squeak, as he dropped his hands. “Gorramit, woman, you always got a sneak up on a man like that?” Several guns went up. Including the woman’s he had shouted to. Rifle trained on Jayne, she spoke. “Let’s keep those hands up. Get their weapons. And make sure no one else’s in that shuttle.” As her team moved on her crisp orders she looked over the three of them, long, slow, and sure. “Jayne Cobb,” she finally said. “Didn’t think to see you again.” - - Mal had elbowed Jayne hard in the stomach, once his greeting had gone south. It shut the man up for a moment, and Mal tried to get a handle on who had them trapped. And why. The woman was watching as her people thoroughly searched the shuttle and the surrounding area. They moved quickly and silently, despite the uneven ground, littered with dry sticks and stones. Skill Mal would have appreciated more, if it were not being used against him. “Mal, let me talk to her,” Jayne hissed, hands on his head. “What?” he focused back on the two people next to him. Kaylee was still pale, and Jayne had apparently gone crazy. “Let you? Did I fall and hit my head or something—” “Quite the history between me and her family, ain’t there, Mariah?” Jayne’s attention shifted, he was squinting into the sun, looking at the woman sitting tall in her saddle. “Where’s your daddy; he know you pinched his favorite rifle?” “Only thing ‘twixt the two of us is a passel of bad memories. One I sure as hell ain’t about to add to. You and your party are bound by law, suspect of trespassing and moving contraband across interplanetary borders.” “Ho, now, lady, we ain’t—” “Stand still, stranger; if you want to keep standing,” Mariah said, cutting Mal off without raising her voice. “When I want to hear your story, I’ll ask it of you. This your crew, Cobb?” “His crew? I ain’t workin’ for Jayne. Not in a million years.” “Wha?” Kaylee’s indignation hit Jayne hard. He kept his eye on Mariah, but shouted back at Kaylee, “What d’ya mean you wouldn’t work for me?” “Why should I?” “Cuz. I’d run things good.” “You’re always getting us in trouble.” “Nu-huh. Last three times were all Mal’s fault.” “That ain’t true, and you know it.” Mal saw Mariah’s hand floating around her rifle and decided his crew’s sideshow was not getting them anywhere they wanted to go. “Bi zui, Jayne. Kaylee. No need to go making the pretty lawwoman mad.” Mal tried once more, raising his cuffed wrists. “Now ma’am. I do believe you’ve gone and mixed us...” “You keep talking, and I’ll put a hole through Mr. Cobb here, and thank you for giving me reason, Browncoat.” Mal stopped. Dirtworld planets such as Milagros usually supported the Independents, but somehow the word had not sounded friendly, dropping from her mouth. Jayne either missed or ignored the sheriff’s clear dissatisfaction with him. “Mariah,” he said, earnest, “we ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Soul of my mother, we’re here to do you and the town some good.” “You can spin your stories in court, I got no interest in lies.” “Court? New Belle ain’t hardly got four walls to the jail, you tellin’ me it has a courthouse built—” “We’ll walk ‘em; Justin, you take the horses for us. Ain’t that far. Rosalee, circle back around for me, make sure there ain’t someone lurking behind. And find whatever ship was they came down in, get an armed guard on it. Several.” She dismounted her horse and walked over to Jayne, who stood almost a foot taller than her and looked somewhat nervous. “Seeing how it’s been six years, maybe you need remindin’. There ain’t a statute of limitation on homicide charges here on Milagros. You’re still bound by law for the murder of Silas Walker, James McDaniel, and Eleanor Lin McDaniel. Ni búshì dongxi, Jayne Cobb. Wo xi wang ni man man si, dan kuai dian xia di yu. - - Translations - - tian fuhn di fu: “complete disarray or sheer pandemonium. Literally sky tumbles while earth turns over.” xiao zang gui: “dirty little monster (spoken affectionately to a child who has gotten him(her)self dirty; literally "little dirty ghost")” Wo de ma: Mother of God. Yan jing wan quan kan bu jian de di di: Blind as a bat (lit: the eye cannot completely see) Gai si!: Damn it all (literary, I read: Should die.) Wei: Hey. Bi zui: Shut-up N? búshì d?ngxi: You’re less than human. Wo xi wang ni man man si, dan kuai dian xia di yu: I wish you a slow death, but a quick ride to hell - - - - Note: A longer chapter, but I think I have to cut back to posting once a week. As I enjoy this part of the story and would like to do it justice. Kind ones, thank you again for comments. So long as you enjoy reading, I will continue to take up cyber-space. -